


Malheureusement/Unfortunately

by jilyfish



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilyfish/pseuds/jilyfish
Summary: Malheureusement: meaning unfortunately, it is unfortunate that.Mallory Black, ward of the Malfoy family enters her fifth year of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with an overwhelming feeling of being an outsider in her own family. Without a brother to depend on, a father who is proud of her or even a mother who always tells the truth, Mallory finds herself seeking anybody who can be candid. Amidst the Triwizard tournament, OWLs and a best friend with pureblood mania, Mallory ends up falling into somebody remarkably similar to herself.
Relationships: Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter One - Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mallory Black returns for her fifth year at Hogwarts. Though with scars of the Quidditch World Cup and festering resentment towards her foster brother, Draco. She worries she'll never be part of the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fan fiction can also be read on ff.net (@jilyfishful) or Wattpad (@_jilyfish) !!   
> Hope you enjoy!

31st August, 1994

  
Somehow, as limbs fly in a flurry of rushed flights for your life, she stays on her feet. Families clasp to one another, clawing to ensure that they remain close. Yet, her fist grips onto only herself, holding her sane as the entire world descends into madness. Is this the end of Mallory? Even though the screams tell her that the world is still alive, death floods the sky; grey smoke as a mark as dark and as evil as the devil himself, snake enclosing itself, death eating away at the sky as every man, woman and child try to escape the death in the air. But death is now one with the air that they breathe, and Mallory sucks it in as she continues to run, her lungs feeding on something that may kill her. Tents are half-erected; not due to an inexperienced camper but due to feet that stomp over, trying to escape. Mad men in tall hats torture those with lesser blood than her own but all the same, Mallory wonder if their wands will turn on her next.  
In the mess of limb, clasping families, madness and death, Mallory realises that her shoe is gone; it’s only a black trainer, but even as the ground beneath her stabs into the sole of her foot, she worries only about her soul and whether in fifteen years of life she has truly lived.  
“Where is my shoe?” She calls, before realising that maybe it’s gone forever.  
And her brother, or he who is near enough to her brother, disappeared into the trees without a look back. Only worrying about himself. And what about her Uncle? Where did he go?  
“Death Eaters,” repeat some adults, who have reduced themselves to tears. Is she expected to cry too?  
A tent engulfs in flames as the snake continues to engulf itself, both feeding from the skull and creating it in a swirl of morbid life as the sky is drained of any other sight. And the crowds scream as if it’s their last life. Where is her brother?  
Mallory must have been screaming; whether in this life or in her dream because Narcissa, her Foster Mother, wakes Mallory with a shake.  
“Mallory,” she is shaking her shoulder, persisting to rip Mallory from her nightmare; a dream of the past. “Mallory, wake up.” She repeats until the skull and the snake dissipate into grey eyes, as Narcissa strokes locks of Mallory’s black hair.  
“Did I scream?”  
“Yes.” She whispers, shushing Mallory’s words but continuing to comb through her black curls. “What was it about?”  
“The Quidditch World Cup.” Mallory tells her with a quivering lip and hoarse throat, to which she receives a tired sigh. “I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be.” Narcissa replies, moving her fingers to Mallory’s flushed cheek. Her eyelids feel heavy with lack of sleep but with each slow blink she tries to keep them open, focusing on Narcissa’s eyes. “You had quite the scare, Mallory. You won’t recover in just a few nights.”  
“Draco isn’t having nightmares.” Mallory responds, rolling my eyes at the mention of Narcissa’s son.  
Underage and with no idea where their Portkey home could be found; Draco cooped himself cosily up into bed whilst Mallory helplessly wandered an empty campsite alone.  
“That you know of.” Narcissa responds, a small smirk dancing on her lips. “He’s not quite got the same vocal range as you, however.”  
“Is this your way of telling me he is a whimpering baby every night?” Mallory says, smirking too at Narcissa who now gasps at her. Narcissa’s motherly fingers pause halfway through Mallory’s black hair, rotating one single strand arounder finger; a black lock twirling around a pale, white finger. “Because that would make me feel better.”  
“Don’t jest, Mallory.”  
“I’ll stop jesting when-” the sentence dies on her lips, knowing that eventually Narcissa will fully disagree with Mallory and take the side of her son. “I don’t know…”  
“Mallory Black is at a loss for words,” Narcissa says with a chuckle into her hair, pressing a quick kiss into her head. “Perhaps now you’ll be able to have a dreamless sleep.”  
“I’m sorry I woke you,” Mallory says, with Narcissa’s calming words and soothing hands softly singing her back to sleep.  
“Don’t be,” she says, one final sweeping embrace of fingers against Mallory’s cheek and she finally stops the fight against the weight of her eyelids.  
But, Narcissa Malfoy, her foster mother, her ward; the woman who has raised Mallory since birth is wrong. Mallory is back in the campsite, having spent a day actually happy. They’d been in the Minister for Magic’s Box, Draco practically beaming from a swollen sense of importance which meant that they’d managed to get through a day without griping at one another. Lucius Malfoy, the man who let Mallory live in his home and paid for her entire life, had reminded her to keep her head tall and back strong, showing off his beautiful family to those who he wanted to keep up appearances to. Narcissa had joked about the appearance of the Veela, telling Mallory that she was as fetching as a veela, which made Mallory snort and had stroked Mallory’s arm when she had started to zone out from the game, watching the Weasley’s, a family so different from the one that Mallory knows.  
Even in the box, as the minister for Magic made his way to their family, he concerned himself more with Draco than with Mallory. Perhaps he wants to avoid remembering the last time she’d seen him at Hogwarts, Mallory assumed, when he’d accused her of releasing a murderer from prison who isn’t her father. Must I remind you that Black is my wife’s maiden name, Mr Fudge. Lucius had snarled, outraged as a man three times Mallory’s age had gripped her wrist and demanded she give him information she didn’t hold. Mallory has no parents. I think you owe my ward an apology for such a heinous accusation.  
“Ah, Mallory.” Fudge stumbles over her name, using her first name rather than her given surname of Black. Perhaps it’s another way to further remove his name from that ridiculous interaction. “How has your summer been?”  
“Mallory is preparing herself for her OWL exams this coming year.” Lucius answers for her, placing a caring hand onto Mallory’s shoulder.  
“I am sure you will earn the highest grades. What about following Hogwarts?” Fudge asks, looking at Lucius now rather than her.  
“Mallory wants to enter the Ministry after taking her NEWTs,” Lucius says, patting her shoulder once again. This is where he excels, when bragging. “I’m sure that you, Minister, could find a little internship for Mallory once she’s finished her exams next summer, hm?”  
“Why, of course. I’m certain we can find a place for you.” Fudge says, looking into Mallory’s grey, stormy eyes for only a second before looking back to Lucius. “So lovely to see you and your beautiful family, Lucius, as always.”  
“An internship would be fantastic for you, Mallory.” Narcissa says, replacing Lucius’s hand on her shoulder, which had disappeared the moment that the Minister had walked away. Lucius had turned back to the presumably important person that they are sat beside in the box, engaging them in conversation instead.  
“Draco, come and speak to Mr Bagman.” Lucius beckons, with Draco walking, subdued, over to his father.  
When Draco reaches Lucius, rather than a solitary palm on the shoulder, Lucius wraps his arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his side as Draco beams at whatever his dad is telling the men.  
At the same time as Lucius’ bragging, Mallory hears Fudge call Ah, Mr Potter, which draws away Mallory’s attention, over towards the only other familiar faces in the room. The sea of Weasley-red hair is broken apart by Harry Potter, with jet black hair alike to her own. Potter’s head jerks to the side, at the mention of his name from Fudge and he blushes at the direct greeting from Fudge. But, in that half of a moment before he turned his head, Mallory could’ve sworn his emerald eyes were on her.  
Though, she’s always thinking that she spots Potter and his friends staring at her. Something which Blaise, her best friend, is forever telling her is narcissistic and insane. But even as Harry Potter awkwardly shakes hands with the Minister for Magic and chats, presumably about his summer also, Ron Weasley, the only Weasley Mallory remembers by name due to Draco’s rants about the boy, looks over at her. It’s only for a second; in that moment when she realises someone is looking at her so her grey eyes flick to him and his eyes diverge away, widened as he focuses on the Minister, who chats to his best friend. No, Blaise would tell her she’s being narcissistic again.  
“Good morning, Mallory.” Narcissa says, passing her doorway, ripping her away from the memory of the Gyrffindors and their strange stares. She’s wrapped up in a silk dressing gown; striking blonde hair slicked back over her shoulders. “How was the rest of your sleep?”  
Mallory sits on the edge of her bed, staring still at her reflection in a floor-length mirror that rests on the floor. Usually, she’d admire her curls or smile cheekily at herself. But today, Mallory only looks towards her grey eyes which are framed by exhausted, dark bags beneath them.  
She’d wandered around that campsite absolutely alone, the sole of her foot jumping at every unknown texture as she looked around for familiar faces.  
Eventually, collapsing beneath a tree with either shock or abandonment, and only when the aurors had made a final sweep of the forest did they find her, take her home and hand her over to the house elf to take her to bed.  
Her family hadn’t stayed up for her return.  
But, Narcissa is here now, Mallory reminds herself. Crossing the room to her bed also, taking Mallory’s silence as an answer to wrap her ward into an embrace, stroking the girl’s back and the ends of her black curls in comforting actions.  
“Chin up, Mallory,” Narcissa orders with a smile, lifting her chin up as she pulls away from the hug. “It’s your last day before returning to school. What are your plans for today?”  
“I was going to see Blaise this afternoon before our annual dinner,” Mallory informs her.  
With the house elf packing up their belongings for each term at Hogwarts, the day before their return to Hogwarts, for Draco and Mallory, is relatively stress-free. The only source of stress being their annual family dinner the day before their return; it usually ends with Lucius stressing the importance of the Malfoy name. Even if it’s a name Mallory only has by association.  
“Shall we go into London? Do a little shopping before Blaise arrives?”  
Any extra time that she can spend with Narcissa without Draco is always a welcome offer, which is why only an hour later the women are walking down Diagon Alley, perusing the shops’ windows as Narcissa informs Mallory with a whisper when they pass someone she went to school with.  
People look at Narcissa with contempt, though nobody says anything. And the mere revelation that people can look at Mallory’s foster mother that way is always such a shock to her. Do they not realise she took her in when nobody else could?  
Probably not, actually.  
Mallory knows she’s probably known as the ‘other Malfoy child’ unless she actually introduces herself as Mallory Black.  
Inside Flourish and Blotts, Narcissa leads the way as she takes me to Mallory’s favourite part of the old bookstore; the fiction.  
“Grab a book and I’ll buy it as a treat,” Narcissa informs Mallory as she’s pulled away by the manager, who, with a flushed face, repeats what an honour it is for Mrs Malfoy to enter his shop and gift him with her patronage. Mallory’s fingers graze over the different covers, looking for familiar wizarding authors as Lucius Malfoy would definitely not allow any muggle novels inside his manor. Narcissa shakes the hand of the manager as Mallory reaches for a book with a red spine, her eyes glazing over the cover as she picks, undoubtedly, a romance novel.  
“Pfft.” She mumurs, turning it over to read about a forbidden love between warring wizarding families, what a bore.  
Instead, beside it there is another novel with a black cover. Perhaps due to her surname, it stands out more to her. Malheuresement, the title, equally incites some kind of curiosity in her as the title rolls off Mallory’s tongue as easily as her name. Narcissa is still busy charming the manager, who will probably end up giving her a discount, and Mallory folds back the cover to read the first line of the novel: In a world of curiosity, he is surprisingly candid.  
“Find anything, Mallory?” Narcissa asks finally, as Mallory’s grey, curious eyes continue to re-read over the novel’s first line. She doesn't even know what the novel is about beyond an individual being candid and that sounded like something she could welcome with open arms in the house that she currently lives in. Only Narcissa is ever straightforward with her.  
“Can I have this?” Mallory asks, holding the book up in the air. Narcissa also has something wrapped in brown wrapping paper tucked beneath her arm. It’s probably a gift for Draco so that things are fair between them.  
“Of course.” She smiles, beckoning Mallory over and the manager flusters as he shoos away the other shopkeeper with a scowl as he lets the Malfoys move to the front of the queue. They can’t even go to a bookstore without somehow getting special treatment and it makes Mallory smirk.  
“Where’s Draco today?” Mallory asks, finally asking about a boy that is far from her brother.  
“Meeting his friends.” She replies with a kind smile. “Though I’m sure he’ll have plenty of time with them this year, too. I doubt either of you will be willing to come home at Christmas this year.”  
“Why?” Never before has Mallory spent a holiday at school. By Christmas she’s far too homesick and missing her own bed, her own bathtub and house elves to make her hot chocolate to want to stay at school for much longer. Draco, on the other hand, has only spent one Christmas at school, too.  
“You’ll find out,” she tells Mallory with a knowing smirk, not elaborating on her statement. “Any more shops?” Mallory shakes her head, knowing that Blaine will be using floo powder to get to the house at any time. “I suppose Blaise will be expecting you?”  
“Why do you smirk every time you mention his name?” Mallory asks, when she notices Narcissa has begun to smirk again, it’s her Blaise smirk.  
“He’s a very handsome boy. You’re beautiful. Are you sure you two aren’t more than friends?”  
“There is more to compatibility than just looks, Narcissa.” Mallory tells her, rolling her eyes at the question that she’s heard time and time again. Blaise was brought round to their house for the first time when he and Draco were seven, as a way for the two to be friends before attending Hogwarts together. Though, it had been Blaise and Mallory that had formed the friendship, with Draco scowling and complaining the entire time when Blaise wouldn’t play the games that Draco suggested.  
“That doesn’t answer my question.”  
“The word no answers your question, though.” Mallory retorts sarcastically.  
“I suppose even if the two of you were more than friends you wouldn’t tell me anyway.” Narcissa says, taking hold of Mallory’s arm to loop theirs together as they walk back down Diagon Alley. Those same looks of aversion are cast Narcissa’s way; she’s probably experienced them for her entire life, Mallory wonders, from being a Black to a Malfoy.  
“Why not?” Mallory asks, genuinely wondering why Narcissa thought she’d keep anything from her.  
“Well, teenagers rarely tell their parental figures anything about their love lives.”  
“I’d tell you.” Mallory says immediately, knowing full-well that she’d see no reason to keep it from her foster mother. “It’s not like you’d be able to stop me from whoever I was dating.” She tells Narcissa with a laugh, and whatever Narcissa had expected to tell Mallory in response, is cut off from her lips when Mallory is pushed away from her arm.  
A body much taller than Mallory’s collides with her side, so she stumbles on the uneven pavement of Diagon Alley, slipping slightly as her collider immediately reaches out to steady her.  
“I’m so sorry.” For a second Mallory thinks she’s seeing double as an identical face looks over their companion’s shoulder, the companion still holding her up. Mallory recognises the faces as those of the Weasley Twins immediately. Narcissa scoffs beside her, perhaps wondering whether to rip Mallory’s arms out of the Twin One’s hands. “Are you okay?”  
“No damage done.” Mallory responds, pulling herself from his hands, and her hands immediately go to her hair just to avoid his eyes.  
He immediately smiles, which causes his hazel eyes to crease along with them. There’s a dimple on the left side of his face, Mallory notices.  
“See you at school.” He says, with a cautious glance at Narcissa, as his twin pulls him away with a laugh and Narcissa scowls at Mallory.  
“Weasleys.” She tells her, as if Mallory weren’t already aware. Though, even Mallory would only need to take one look at them to know that they belonged to that family. More children than you can count on one hand.  
Though, Mallory often wonders what it’s like to have a sibling. A proper one, not one that would abandon her in the middle of a battlefield without a moment’s pause.  
But then again, she rarely ever considers Draco as anything other than a pain in her arse.  
“You’re quiet.” Blaise tells Mallory an hour after he’s arrived. The house elf treated him like royalty immediately upon entering the manor. He’s guided to the sofa, asked for his drink order and they even unlace his shoes for him before Mallory has even shut the door that he entered from.  
The friends are lounging on the sofas, with the record playing some of Lucius’ music, as Blaise makes predictions about the year ahead.  
“Just thinking about school.” She tells him, though it’s only half of the truth.  
“OWL year for you. Will you handle the pressure?” Blaise jokes, which earns him a kick from her. They sit on opposite ends of the grey, velvet sofa so he is easy to reach with her foot. Though, Blaise immediately catches her foot with his hand, tickling the bottom of it. “Violence is never the answer, Black.”  
“Stop!” Mallory chokes through with laughter as Blaise shifts his weight onto her legs, holding the leg in place so that he can continue to tickle into the sole of her foot. “Blaise! Stop!” Mallory laughs once more, kicking her free foot into his side.  
“Help!” Mallory jokingly calls when Blaise doens’t stop, face alight with laughter as he beams a full white set of teeth at his best friend.  
“Does Mistress Mallory require help?” The house elf asks, immediately appearing upon the request for help.  
“No she doesn’t!” Mallory spits out at it, rolling her eyes at the desperation to please that the house elf shows. “Blaise, stop it now!”  
“Fine, you’ve convinced me.” Blaise replies, letting go of her foot but still he sits closer to her now, moving Mallory’s legs so that they are draped across his lap. “But seriously, do you think the Malfoy’s will pile on the pressure?”  
“Probably,” Mallory shrugs, playing with the sleeve of her cardigan to avoid looking into Blaise’s eyes. If she did, he’d instantly see the insecurity drowning in the sea of her grey eyes. “Nothing I’m not used to.”  
“I suppose it’ll be worse for Draco next year.”  
“You’re probably right there. The golden son will have to match whatever grades I get.” Mallory rolls her eyes, using the nickname that Blaise himself had come up with for Draco.  
“Have you heard much from Amara?” Blaise asks after another moment of silence. Mallory cradles the cup of hot chocolate in her hands, savouring its warmth as a cooling draft comes in through the windows of the manor. Lucius is always insisting on having all of the windows of the manor open until late November.  
“A couple of letters here and there.” Mallory answers, though the last she’d heard of her best friend at Hogwarts was at the beginning of August. Amara Carrow and Mallory had bonded during second year over their shared experience of having no parents. Whilst she’s been raised by her foster parents, Lucius and Narcissa, Amara has practically been raised by her elder siblings, Amycus and Alecto and it made making jokes about having no parents a lot easier when she found them as equally hilarious as Mallory does. “She’s spent the summer travelling Europe with her brother and sister.” Mallory tells Blaise, recalling that the last time she’d heard from Amara, she’d been in Hungary. What a bore my siblings are! Traversing to whatever country they feel like and I’m reduced to nights in a hotel room by myself as they meet up with old connections. They have the absurd idea of travelling to Albania or somewhere next and I think that’s where I may draw the line!  
She understands, too, the unrelenting pressure of having family who are forever networking wherever they may go. Even Narcissa had been stopped five times in Diagon Alley today.  
“We should go travelling.” Blaise says, reclining his head into the back of the sofa so that his entire neck is exposed to her. Dark skin spreads across the grey velvet proving that Blaise Zabini is effortlessly cool and handsome. “We’d have a great time. You could even drag Carrow along if you like.”  
“I’d rather not spend an entire holiday being a referee.” Mallory responds quickly, imagining travelling with her two closest friends. Blaise easily pushes the buttons of whoever he meets, discerning quickly what can tick them off, and his favourite victim is always Amara. Amara, with her more less-than-savoury views towards muggle blood meant that Blaise often ticked her off purely from his own disgust at her pureblood mania. Though, whenever the three of them are together it usually ends with Blaise rowing with Mallory for her acceptance of Amara’s views.  
“True.” Blaise chuckles, though suddenly he shifts from his position, pushing Mallory’s feet from their relaxed position on his lap. For a second Mallory thinks it must be Lucius or Narcissa who have entered the room to create such a reaction from Blaise as he distances himself from her.  
“Zabini,” greets Draco, who invites himself into their conversation by collapsing onto the identical sofa opposite from them. “Alright?”  
“Yeah. You?” Answers Blaise, regarding Draco with a nod. Mallory scowls at Draco who looks only at Blaise, rather than her.  
“Excellent.” He smirks, showing his teeth as his arms stretch out across the back of the sofa.  
“I’m surprised to see you friendless.” Mallory can’t help herself but to say the remark. Draco scowls back at her, matching Mallory’s expression of distaste.  
“And yet you can only be seen around Zabini. No offense.” Blaise’s eyebrows arch up in surprise at the unusual dig from Draco. “What’s it like having only two friends?”  
“I don’t know; why don’t you tell me?” Mallory barks back, her cheeks flushing in anger as Draco continues to sit, relaxed, on the sofa.  
“Touchy.” Draco giggles, shaking his head at Mallory’s quick rise to anger. “Is it that time of the month again?”  
“Piss off, Draco.” Mallory groans, hitting the back of her head into the velvet cushion of the sofa in frustration. “Nobody wants you here.”  
“No. I think I’ll stay.” He wriggles his bum into the sofa, all the while smirking at Mallory who groans, glaring at him. “It’s probably the last I’ll see of you before we’re back at school and you know I shall miss your company desperately.” Sarcasm drips from his voice, taking relentless pleasure as Mallory continues to feel anger pour from her every skin cell.  
“One can only hope.” Mallory argues back.  
Blaise leaves not long after Draco arrives. With Draco’s appearance, Mallory’s sour mood grows and Blaise’s uncomfortable feeling rises until he finally makes his excuses.  
“You don’t have to leave so soon?”  
“He probably won’t leave you alone until I do.” Blaise whispers to her as the two stand beside the door. “Besides, we’re back at Hogwarts tomorrow which means I then get to have 50% of your time.”  
“50%?” Repeats Mallory, tilting her head to the side so that black curls dance upon her shoulder.  
“Well,” Blaise starts, smiling at the sight of his best friend. “We’re in different school years so that means no lessons together.”  
“There’s still our midnight library sessions, though.” Mallory reminds him. Amara, despite being her companion in the day, is not the best study buddy.  
“True. But then there’s Amara.”  
“Ah.”  
“So, if she gets 50% then I’ll get the other 50%?”  
“I feel like a child of divorce,” Mallory jokes with a stern face. Blaise doesn’t laugh at this joke; perhaps because his mum has been married seven times. Though Mallory has heard enough of the rumours to know why none of Blaise’s step-fathers had lived outside of their marriage to his mum.  
“Can I tell you something that’s been on my mind?” Mallory asks, when her troubled mind wanders back to the day of the Quidditch World Cup.  
“Always,” Blaise nods sternly, folding his arms and leaning against the grand, arched doorway of the manor.  
“When we went to the Quidditch World Cup final, we were in the Minister’s box-” Mallory is cut off when Blaise snorts with laughter, creating crinkles beside his brown eyes until Mallory whacks him with the back of her hand against his strong chest in irritation. “Well, the Weasleys and Harry Potter and Granger were there too and I swear when I was there… they were looking at me. But why would they be looking at me?”  
“Maybe it’s some leftover embarrassment of that weekend in Hogsmeade?” Blaise suggests, face now turning stern.  
When Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban over a year ago, Mallory had been greeted with many intrusive, personal questions from all forms of students over the year, who had assumed that their shared surname meant that they were somehow closely related. Mallory’s surname is Black from Narcissa’s maiden name. Yet they weren’t asking Narcissa, Sirius Black’s cousin, if she knew where he was hiding out. The worst of those accusations that had been thrown Mallory’s way, of course, had been during one dreadfully cold Hogsmeade visit when Harry Potter had practically pounced on her.  
“I suppose so,” Mallory agrees, shaking her head in a physical attempt to shake the memories that were overtaking her conscious thoughts. “It’s just weird. I hope the staring stops this year.”  
“We just need another escape from Azkaban who’s surname isn’t Black and then I’m sure your year will be splendid.”  
“Let’s have our fingers crossed for that then!” Mallory jokes, holding up chipped nail polish-covered fingers to show her own crossed fingers. Blaise laughs, pulling her into a hug before quickly leaving.  
“You two should get a room.”  
“Pardon?” Asks Mallory. Draco had crossed the hallway to lean against the banister of the grand staircase. He gestures with his head towards the door that Blaise has just exited from.  
“You heard me. You and Zabini.”  
“Don’t you worry, Blaise can be all yours.” Mallory says, rolling her grey eyes at Draco. “I’m sure you two will look very fetching together.”  
“Cow.” Blushes Draco, crossing his arms in anger.  
“I know you are but what am I?” Smirks Mallory, walking into the dining room, where Narcissa and Lucius are expecting them.  
Though, Mallory is the first to enter, sitting herself on the black, wooden chair that has always been in her place at the table. Lucius and Narcissa sitting at opposite ends, with Draco on Lucius’s right hand and Mallory on his less-favourable left side. Draco, not wanting to be late, rushing in after her only to see that they had made it before his parents anyway.  
Both, feeling awkward from their argument, sit in seething silence, both too stubborn to break the silence.  
Only a few minutes pass before Lucius rushes in with a victorious smile on his face, clutching a letter in his hand as he sits down quickly, reading over the letter which causes him to laugh raucously. Then, Narcissa enters behind him, also with a smile on her face as she leans over the back of Lucius’s chair to read the letter over his shoulder. Both are laughing then as Draco practically turns purple, bursting with curiosity over the letter’s contents that had caused both of his parents to feel so full of glee.  
Even Mallory can’t help but wonder if they’ll reveal to them what has them so happy.  
“Well, back to Hogwarts tomorrow.” Narcissa crosses the room to sit at her usual place at the table, sweeping bleach blonde hair over her shoulder, attracting all of our attention. “How do you both feel about returning?”  
“Fine.” Shrugs Draco immediately, who is playing with his place setting and digging the knife into the green tablecloth; green for slytherin, obviously.  
“And you, Mallory?” Asks Narcissa after a sip of water. “It’s OWL year, do you feel prepared?”  
“Hopefully,” shrugs Mallory. She does feel prepared. In fact she felt confident in the subjects that she’d be taking exams in later in the year. But she would keep that fact closely guarded to herself.  
“It’s more important than ever Draco to make the Malfoy name proud.” Lucius says, changing the topic of conversation from Mallory swiftly to Draco. “Make connections this year. Some of my most important contacts in my adult life came from those I met whilst at school.”  
“Yes, Father.” Nodded Draco obediently, still staring at the table.  
“If it weren’t for the event this year, I think I’d be sending you to Durmstrang for the rest of your education.” Drawled Lucius, still looking at only his son. “I know Karkaroff personally and I think you’d learn just what you need to do magic rather than the edited version of education that Dumbledore gives you. Though, what do you expect from someone who loves mudbloods as much as he does. You know his father was arrested for attacking muggles?” Lucius laughs into his red wine. “Wonder how people would react with that kind of information floating around at that school.”  
“Why?” Mallory breaks Lucius from his revelry to ask the question. Lucius always threatens to remove both children from Hogwarts frequently throughout the school year. Yet, he had never told them anything about Dumbledore more than his ‘disgusting’ love of muggle borns.  
“What?”  
“Well, why did he attack those muggles? Was there a reason?”  
Lucius laughs at Mallory’s question and with a quick glance at Draco, he joins in too.  
“Probably just recognising them for the vermin they are.” Lucius shrugs. “ You’d best remember that Mallory when you’re at school this year.”  
“Will do,” sighs Mallory, once more feeling melancholic. Lucius always proves to her somehow that the rightful place of muggles is below them, the purebloods.  
“Especially with everything that’s happening this year, I don’t want any disappointments.” He looks to Mallory as he says this, though, as far as she’s aware, it has always been Draco that has somehow disappointed him. His careless Quidditch matches, getting injured and never receiving top marks have always been on the tip of Lucius’s acid tongue.  
Dear Mallory,  
How happy I was to receive a letter from Professor Snape, an old friend of mine, who informed me that last night you’d been sorted into Slytherin house. As you know, both Narcissa and I are proud Slytherins and we’re so proud that you will continue on this legacy.  
Have a fantastic term at Hogwarts.  
Lucius Malfoy  
Receiving that letter on the first morning of first year after being sorted into the only house that she had wanted to be in, had made her Hogwarts journey complete. All of her life Narcissa had been the one who felt parental, whilst Lucius had always made her feel like a roommate, until that letter. That letter was the first time that Lucius had felt like a dad. It was also the only time he’d told her that he was proud of her.  
“What’s happening at Hogwarts this year?” She asks Lucius, though she’s unsure if he’ll answer. Draco smirks opposite from her, confirming that he does know.  
“You’ll find out.” Lucius shrugs, as the house elves tiptoe around them to serve out their meal. “No need to ruin the surprise for Mallory, is there Draco?” Lucius says coyly. Draco nods to his father, smirking even wider at Mallory.  
“I’m sure all will be revealed tomorrow, Mallory.” Narcissa intervenes. Even as Lucius and Draco continue to smirk that they know something that Mallory doesn’t, who squeezes her fork into her hand, waiting for someone to eat so that she can find a distraction from her anger.  
“That is unless Draco can’t help opening his big mouth.” Mallory responds, rolling grey eyes as Draco glares with equally grey, harsh eyes back at her.  
“Let’s not argue, it’s the last time we’ll be together for a while.”  
With a beg for peace from Narcissa, the Malfoys and Mallory eat with an ordered peace. The conversations between them range from chats about school subjects (and why Mallory insisted on taking Divination of all things) to the infestation of muggle borns at Hogwarts (perhaps there’s a school where they could all go together, rather than ruining education for everybody else?)  
The night drifts on until Mallory returns to bed, being awoken by nightmares until the house elf is whimpering as it shakes her awake for the Hogwarts Express.  
“Okay I’m up!” She snaps, earning a whine from the house elf as she raises her voice. Peeling back the covers, she dresses quickly wondering all the while if she’ll soon find out whatever Lucius and Draco are hiding from her about Hogwarts.  
“One more screw up, Draco,” Lucius starts on the platform before they embark on the Hogwarts Express. Lucius is squeezing Draco’s shoulder, so that his jumper is ruffled beneath the touch and he squirms beneath his father’s touch. “And I’ll be sending you to Durmstrang. It’s more important than ever that you do not embarrass me.”  
Mallory is the only other person in hearing distance of Lucius’s words; though usually she finds herself feeling immense pleasure from Draco being told what a disappointment he is. But if Draco is transferred to Durmstrang, will Mallory still be able to attend Hogwarts?  
Draco nods at his father, forcing a hurt smile and if anybody else is looking towards them, they wouldn’t realise what Lucius had just told his son. Mallory quickly waves at Lucius, wanting to avoid any warning of shirking on the Malfoy name. Though it’s not even her name to shirk upon.  
Once on board the Hogwarts Express, Mallory finally allowed herself to feel a rush of familiar excitement. Away from Lucius, there is surprisingly a lot less pressure to be felt. Without Draco, the only boy around to annoy her is her best friend. But without Narcissa, who would calm her when waking from her nightmares?  
As Mallory passes a flurry of filled carriages, she ends up facing a blockage as a group of students fit their heads through the windows of the door, clearly talking to somebody on the platform. The train whistle echoes through the air, with a slow groan emitting from the train as it begins to start.  
The pistons hiss loudly and Draco has disappeared far ahead of her; will he find a carriage with Blaise and the other fourth year Slytherins?  
“Tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts!” Someone billows from the window, and Malllory’s head snaps to face him. It was as if he were talking to Lucius Malfoy too. “What rules are they changing?”  
But, whether the shouter is answered or not, the train begins to slowly begin the journey. The group disperses, but Mallory is still focussed, wondering whether everyone knows that something is happening at Hogwarts this year. At least, she comforted herself, she’s not the only one who is unaware. Not all of them could be as blessed as Draco with the information, evidently.  
Her wonders about Lucius bring back the realisation that now she is travelling away from Narcissa. Lost within thoughts of whether, with enough distance from her nightmare-filled bed, Mallory’s nightmares could dissipate with the journey, she’s greeted with a cushioned boulder. Of course, it isn’t a boulder and Mallory gasps at the obstruction from her planned journey down the carriage.  
“I’m sorry.” She apologises quickly, but quickly her eyebrows arch up in an ironic surprise. “You again.”  
That same cheeky, happy face smirks back at her. He’s at least a head taller than her, so Mallory cranes her neck, feeling irritation creeping its way up her neck as, for the second time in as many days, a Weasley walks into her.  
“You know, you should really watch where you’re going, Weasley.” She tells him, but is inwardly shocked when this doesn’t steal away his smile.  
“I believe today you were the one who walked into me, Black.” Fred Weasley teases, crossing his arms as a delighted rush makes his head spin as the girl opposite him continues to shake with a furious rage. “Don’t pout.” Her lip is jutting out as she continues to pull her anger under control, until Fred Weasley reaches his finger out, ready to poke her lip.  
Not trusting her words, she huffs, avoiding his poke and moves around them, the second twin watching her go curiously, before casting the same suspicious look to his twin brother, which is ignored.  
“Good summer Mallory?” Pansy Parkinson, another Slytherin greets Mallory as she opens a compartment door that is filled with Slytherins.  
“Yeah. You?”  
Draco occupies two seats in the carriage, his feet stretched across the narrow carriage to rest his feet against the faded fabric of the seats.  
He doesn’t move them when he looks at the door to see Mallory standing there with nowhere to go. Even Pansy darts brown eyes to his feet, wondering if he’ll move them for a girl who is basically his sister. Crabbe and Goyle smirk when they realise he won’t and Blaise, trapped beside the window shifts uncomfortably, wondering if she’d be able to fit next to him if she could get past Draco’s feet somehow.  
“Well, of course she’s alright, she gets to stay at Hogwarts for another year.” Draco says, smirking now at Mallory who, still furious from the lack of apology from a Weasley twin, fumes silently. “Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the Headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man’s such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn’t admit that sort of riff-raff. But Mother didn’t like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defence rubbish we do…”  
“But wouldn’t you miss us all dearly if you went there, Draco?” Pansy asks, forgetting all about Draco cutting her off from answering Mallory’s answer.  
“Well, I suppose I’m glad to be here for this year. After all, everything that’s happening this year… Why are you still here, Mallory? Finally wanting to be let in on the secret?”  
Mallory continues to lean against the door of the compartment, which she was holding open. Both inside but still feeling much like an outsider.  
“I bet all of those Weasley’s will enter. Wouldn’t miss a chance to earn an extra knut or two.” The Slytherins, including Blaise, laugh and Mallory is shocked to see Blaise pandering to Draco’s bragging, bullying ways. Usually, Blaise remained stoic on the outside, wishing that he were in the same year as Mallory so that he didn’t have to put up with him.  
“Where are you going, Mal?” Shouts Draco after Mallory, as she finally decides to take away just one member of Draco’s audience. Without replying, she becomes resolute in finding Amara.  
Amara Carrow occupies a singular carriage to herself when Mallory finds her. Perhaps, as Mallory thinks she rightly suspects, with a surname as infamous as Carrow, people who trail up and down the Hogwarts express to find a carriage still aren’t as willing as to sit with a Carrow. Mallory Black is not one such person, and she is engulfed by a happy hug when Amara spots her.  
“Summer was dreadful. Amycus and Alecto had all these important people to meet but clearly, meeting a fifteen year old wasn’t on their agenda. I had to stay inside all day, everyday!” She reveals to Mallory as soon as Mallory asks about her summer. “It’s not like we both don’t know what contacts they were meeting.” She adds, giving Mallory a pointed look because someone who lives with the Malfoy’s must know who the Carrows would be meeting. But, Mallory is not as clued in as Amara would assume she is.  
“So, who did they meet?” Mallory asks, only being able to assume. Draco would know right away, she thinks bitterly.  
“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Amara retorts, flipping a blonde braid over her shoulder. “I have my suspicions but I’m not exactly going to discover anything from inside a hotel room.”  
“So you didn’t see anyone that they met? And they travelled all over Europe?” Mallory asks, even more curious now that Amara may have some hidden knowledge about her family; a whole lot more than Mallory has about her own.  
“Do you see who your dad meets on a daily basis?”  
The question hangs in the air and Mallory can feel the question reach out to her and close its claws around her chest, constricting her heart and lungs.  
“He’s not my dad.” She snaps defensively, unsure how else she is expected to answer the question. If Lucius were here, she knows, he’d want her to clear up on their familial bond. “He’s not my dad.”  
“Basically is, though.” Amara jokes, pressing each burning coal against Mallory’s chest as she continues to feel more and more defensive. “If the shoe fits.”  
“Well it doesn’t.” She snaps back, feeling the heat rise in her pale cheeks to form a furious blush.  
“Okay, okay.” Amara laughs sadistically, holding her hands up in defense. “Don’t bite my head off about it. Just telling it like I see it.”  
Mallory’s foul mood, created by a Weasley twin and fanned by Amara continues on all the way to Hogwarts. Along with the fear that her nightmares will continue into her time at Hogwarts, much to her embarrassment and probably lack of sleep for her fellow dormmates, it isn’t until Mallory is fixing her green and silver Slytherin tie to finish her uniform that she finally feels elated to be back to Hogwarts.  
“Good.” Amara says, linking her arm in Mallory’s as they strut across the platform, even as a small downpour of rain threatens to soak them through, towards the horse-less carriages that were waiting for them. “I was worried your foul mood would last until the feast.”  
“You certainly know how to push my buttons.” Mallory jokes, heading towards the nearest carriage when she feels Amara shiver beside her. “Are you okay?”  
“They just… never seen…” Amara stares at the blank space ahead of the carriages and for a second there seems to be a haunted memory that swims inside the oceans of her blue eyes. But, the second it is there, the shiver stills her body and she shakes her head, blonde braids shaking around her shoulders as she snaps herself from the sadness. “Never mind. Thought I saw something.” She smiles at Mallory, “Come on. We’re getting soaked.”  
They climb in, and Mallory wipes at the sleeves of her Hogwarts uniform in an attempt to brush away the droplets of rain that had settled upon her. Waiting for the carriage to begin to move and hoping that no one will join them, Mallory and Amara fix their gaze to behind them. Amara zoning out with a stare into space whilst Mallory laughs as Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor in the year below, stumbles into the carriage.  
“Gryffindors are never the smoothest people, are they?” Mallory says, thinking back to the two accidental bumps with a Weasley twin, whilst still watching his brother also clamber into the carriage with little grace.  
“Full of mudbloods, that’s why.” Amara quips back, suddenly smiling when Mallory knocks her out of her thoughtful staring. Mallory gasps at the slur, laughing as she watches her best friend.  
“Amara, you can’t say things like that!” She giggles at the word that had come from her friend’s lip, even though it’s not the first time.  
“So what? People say it all the time, it’s just a word. Just like pureblood.” Amara shakes her head, also giggling. “I bet you hear it at home all of the time, anyway.”  
“You never know who’s listening at Hogwarts, though.” Mallory reminds her, since it’s a rule that has always been stressed to her by Narcissa.  
Keep the family secrets away from the listening walls of Hogwarts, Mallory.  
Not, Mallory supposes, that she’s ever really divulged upon in the same way as Draco. And that boy can barely keep his mouth shut at the best of times.  
Back at the Slytherin table, Amara cheers up immensely to be surrounded by the fellow Slytherins. And even with Draco sitting only a few places down from them, Mallory allows herself to be swept away by the merry atmosphere; the four house tables gleaming with golden plates and goblets, waiting to be filled with the most delicious foods. At the front of the room, Mallory curiously scans the head table that is filled with their professors, wondering who will be filling the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, since last summer Professor Lupin turned out to be a werewolf. Professor Snape, their head of house and Potions Master was also scanning his own house table, smirking as some of the older, braver students called his name and waved. Snape is always favouring Slytherin students, though Mallory had never felt the same favouritism that she knows Draco has.  
“So!” Dumbledore breaks the students away from feverishly loud chatter, as the feast dies down and the conversations spring up. At the front of the room, Hogwarts headmaster smiles warmly behind half-moon spectacles and Mallory often wonders how that man, who seemed so kind, could still, as Lucius had proved to her, come from a family that hated muggles too.  
The greatest speakers delude themselves and others into thinking they are more virtuous than others. Lucius had told her once. Mallory supposes that he must be right. Her family are never pretending to be anything that they’re not.  
“Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.  
“Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs-”  
“Do you remember that time we had one of those?” Mallory whispers to Amara. “Those second year Ravenclaws never saw it coming in the library!”  
“Remember Pince when she saw the book that was destroyed in the crossfire, though?” Amara reminds her, jokingly grimacing at the memory as Madam Pince, the librarian had thrown three, large textbooks towards their heads. “She just about turned into a banshee.”  
“-if anybody would like to check it.” Dumbledore continues, smiling at the students. “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students-”  
“Unless of course, you have a detention with Filch.” Mallory interjects in a hushed whisper to Amara, rolling her eyes. “Draco never lets me forget that one.’Who needs to be in Gryffindor for bravery?’ His bragging does my head in.”  
“I bet what he isn’t telling you is that he probably wet his pants at the thought of entering it.” Amara replies, leaning into Mallory so that no one can see their whispering. The imagery her words conjure in Mallory’s head cause her to laugh and her hand reaches quickly out for a golden goblet, using it to hide her mouth as Slytherins around her begin to cast curious glances at the two of them, including Blaise who casts her a questioning look.  
Mallory shakes her head in response, pulling her laughter under control before placing the goblet back down, turning her attention back to the Headmaster.  
“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”  
The effect is immediate, as every house’s table erupts in gasps, shouts and gaping mouths. Even Blaise, who is usually so quiet and reflective when he’s upset, hits his fist into the table, causing his cutlery to rattle in response.  
“This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy-” Dumbledore’s words quieten the hall once more, who, Mallory included, gains the attention of the hall. “But I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-”  
Whatever Dumbledore had been about to announce, and Mallory knew she was about to uncover the secret that Lucius and Draco had dangled in front of her the night before, it is interrupted by the doors of the Great Hall as they swing open with a deafening bang.  
A man stands in the doorway, cloaked in a long, black coat which is coated wet due to the rain and he leans his weight against a long staff. Mallory cranes her neck as students closer to the intruder than her stand to gain a look at the visitor. When his face is illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning, which comes from the conjured sky above them, he lowers his head in a way that Mallory can still not see him, watching as he stomps up towards the teachers’ table.  
His steps echo with clunks as the hall remains in complete silence and even Mallory and Amara do not exchange quips about the visitor, far too enchanted by the scene before them.  
It isn’t until he reaches Dumbledore that Mallory gasps, when she finally sees his eyes beneath wet, matted hair. One eye, small and dark, watches Dumbledore with a warm gaze that is opposing his dark appearance, yet another eye, which is an electric blue, whizzes in all directions, completely independent from his gaze and she shudders when she feels like it lands on her for a moment, before continuing to assess the room.  
The visitor shakes hands with Dumbledore, who greets him just as warmly and Dumbledore moves back towards the platform that he was speaking from whilst the stranger traverses to the corner.  
“May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody.”  
Mallory vaguely recalls the name but her reaction is not as dark as Amara’s, who scoffs and folds her arms, not bothering to clap along with the rest of the Hogwarts students.  
“Dark wizard catcher. Typical of Dumbledore.” Amara whispers to her along with the scattered applause of the hall. “Bet he’ll be keeping his eyes on those names that are familiar to him.”  
Mallory immediately realises that her name will be, incorrectly, attached to the inmates of Azkaban, where there have been at least two Blacks who turned dark. Not to mention Lucius, who, Mallory knows, also had narrowly escaped Azkaban when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named fell.  
“As I was saying,” continues Dumbledore, who gazes across the students with a warm smile, “we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”  
“You’re JOKING!” says a voice across at the Gryffindor table. The Hall suddenly laughs at the outburst, and Mallory does too, as it had been the thought that had immediately come into her mind too.  
“I am not joking, Mr Weasley,” Dumbledore says as Amara scoffs to cover her laughter, her distaste for Weasleys far outweighing her urge to laugh.  
Mallory suddenly becomes overwhelmed by the rejection from her family, for not revealing such an interesting fact about her school year. Even Narcissa had not entertained Mallory for long enough to reveal the surprise. But, they had told Draco.  
Feeling angry and jealous, Mallory grabs a half-eaten bun that she had left from dinner and launches it into the back of Draco’s head, who is listening to Dumbledore with interested attention. He scowls as it hits him, looking behind him as his fingers brush crumbs out from his bleach blonde hair.  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She hisses across the table, causing Blaise, who is sat opposite Draco, to look at her too. “The Twiwizard Tournament! And you didn’t tell me!”  
Draco, no longer scowling over the bun, smirks at Mallory instead.  
“Funny.” He mouths back before turning back towards Dumbledore, which causes Mallory to feel even more furious with him.  
“The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contestants in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleon personal prize money.”  
Excited murmurs erupt inside the Hall once more, the entire Hogwarts populus excited by the prize money apart from Mallory, who still feels the harsh sting of Lucius and Narcissa’s rejection by not sharing the information with her. Looking up at the table, Mallory shudders as Professor Moody’s magical eye settles on her once more. Of course the dark wizard catcher would find the Slytherin student with the surname of Black.  
“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore continues, “the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This -” Dumbledore raises his voice slightly as disappointed groans echo around the Hall now.  
“Oh well, only 12 months too young.” Mallory jokes, who turns sixteen in a few days. “Lucius will be furious that I can’t represent the House of Malfoy.”  
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m talented enough to not embarrass my brother and sister,” Amara replies, rolling her blue eyes at the mention of her siblings. “Bet Draco will cry himself to sleep that he can’t make daddy proud.”  
“Oh, definitely,” giggles Mallory.  
“I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.” Dumbledore looks mainly over at the Gryffindor table, and Mallory wonders if he’s looking at Harry Potter, the boy who is always pushing himself into the spotlight. If he were champion, Draco would be inconsolable.  
“I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen. The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!”  
Dumbledore returns to his seat, turning to talk to Moody, who’s magical eye was still whizzing around and stopping to gaze at many students in the Hall and Mallory felt that familiar creeping feeling of being watched that she often felt when in the same room as Harry Potter and his band of friends.  
“I can’t believe nobody at home told you though,” Amara gasps when they’re finally in their cosy beds in the Slytherin dorms. “I would’ve thought at least your mum-”  
“Not my mum.” Mallory corrects, holding up her finger to pause Amara’s speaking.  
“You know who I mean!” Amara groans in response. “Mrs Malfoy! I can’t believe she didn’t tell you! And Draco! He must’ve been bursting to tell!”  
“I think he was more-so enjoying the immense pleasure of knowing something that I didn’t.” Mallory tells her, knowing that she’s right. “And I think that Narcissa just wanted me to enjoy the surprise.” As she says this, hoping to manifest that being the real reason into reality, she wonders if this isn’t the real reason for Narcissa keeping a secret from her, then what is the real reason?  
So, deep in her sleep her mind conjures those same nightmares. One barefoot as her white trainer skids across the mud and it splatters across her exposed toes. Where is my brother? Where is my brother? Echoing across her mind as horrifying men and women wearing masks and tall hats spread fear through everyone who had just wanted to enjoy a game of Quidditch. But, even worse than this, she finds her family, huddled in a corner as they cheer on those men and women, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco sharing secrets as she realises that maybe, she’ll never be able to join them.


	2. Chapter 2: Unforgivable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mallory returns to Hogwarts for her fifth year. She discovers about the exciting event that will take place this year...

_ 2nd September, 1994 _

Mallory’s grave mood is reflected in the ceiling above her as she barely eats her cereal the next morning. The sky is gloomy following the previous night’s storm and Mallory’s only comfort is that none of her dormmates, Amara included, have mentioned anything about her screaming. And, still feeling the fear she had felt during her sleep, deep down Mallory suspects that she had screamed. 

Their first lessons pass by with only a few warnings of taking this year  _ seriously _ , since in the summer the fifth years would be taking their OWL examinations. Though, Mallory suspected, with quiet confidence, that Narcissa and Lucius’ impromptu lessons throughout the summer had been rooted in preparing her for them. In fact, the only lesson that Mallory really had looked forward to, came at the end of the first day on the 2nd September. Their first lesson with Professor Moody. 

Moody is waiting inside the classroom when the Slytherin and Ravenclaws enter the room, and Mallory sits beside Amara feeling quietly confident.

“Don’t know why you’re feeling so chirpy,” Amara whispers, trying to sour Mallory’s good mood. “One look at our second names and he’ll have judged us as bad as those wizards he’s chucked into Azkaban. Same with all those hero folk.” 

His one eye scans down the register, even as Amara says this to her but his magical, creepy eye continues its examination of the room, and Mallory shudders when it lands on her just as she had last night. 

“You won’t be needing those things.” Moody gruffly says as all of the students begin to pull out their textbooks. 

“But sir, our education has been… sketchy to say the least,” A Ravenclaw, Marietta Edgecombe with reddish-brown hair immediately says, and though her hand is in the air, she doesn’t wait for Moody to call upon her. “We only have a couple of months to-”

“And seeing how my position is just for this year, I’d hope, Miss Edgecombe, that instead of interrupting me I could get you up to speed.” 

Marietta blushes bright red as Moody uses her surname without even asking for it. 

“I know your Mother.” Moody answers, as if reading her mind. “And you’re incorrect, Miss Carrow. I shan’t be judging anybody for their surnames. Except for you.” 

Amara immediately blushes, as both girls realise that somehow he had heard their conversation and even as he addresses Amara, his bright, blue eye focuses on Mallory. 

“So. Let’s learn some dark curses. Who can tell me  _ what _ the unforgivable curses are?” 

A shudder creeps up Mallory’s neck as a few hands rise, and she immediately remembers the curses that Lucius had told her about. Her hand rises and though Moody notices it, he calls up Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw. 

“There’s the imperius curse, Sir.” 

“Ah, the imperius curse.” Moody smirks at the mention of it, writing it upon the blackboard in front of him with rushed, scrawny handwriting. “This gave us folk at the Ministry a  _ particularly  _ hard time following the fall of the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as many suddenly  _ remarked _ that they only followed the orders of his and his many supporters, due to being beneath the spell of the  _ imperius _ curse. Chang, what does it do?” 

“When under the spell, you’re required to do whatever the caster bids you to.” She answers quickly, blushing under his gaze. 

Moody, however, quickly moved on, putting his hand into a jar filled with spiders and immediately engorged it with a charm. 

“ _ Imperio.”  _ He casts, and suddenly the spider is dancing upon all eight legs, darting across the table until Moody’s wand orders it to fly onto the table in front of Amara, who screams at its close proximity, digging her fingernails into Mallory’s arm as she squeezes it out of fear. 

“Get that thing away from me!” Amara screeches, practically climbing into Mallory’s lap in order to put as much limited distance between herself and spider as it’s furry, spindly legs continue to pretend to tap dance upon their table. 

“Who can tell me another?” 

Mallory’s hand raises more confidently this time, knowing that the  _ imperius _ had been just one of three curses that Lucius had told her about. 

Another Slytherin answers the avada kedavra, causing a knowing smile to grow on Moody’s disfigured face. 

“Of course. We all know so much about that one due to there being only  _ one _ individual to ever resist the effects of the avada kedavra, meaning death. This, of course, is Mr Harry Potter. But… there are fates worse than death,” his smile grows wider, “And I believe we are missing one of the three.” 

Now, Mallory’s hand is one of few that rise, including Amara’s who shakes beside her. 

“Black.” He orders, smiling widely at the student who had raised her hand first. 

“There’s also the cruciatus, Professor.” Mallory answers, feeling confident in herself. 

“And this does?” 

“Causes tremendous, torturous pain on the victim.

“ _ Yes,  _ very popular back in the day, too. Many uses for causing pain… extracting information…” Mallory watches the caster as he begins to cast the cruciatus curse upon the spider.. Moody, with half of a nose and scars embedded into his skin,  _ smiles _ at the sight of it, but… his gazing eye wanders around the classroom, watching as the students grimace, shudder and cringe away from the sight, until he lands on Mallory and watches her curious, studying gaze. 

“The Cruciatus curse, often, is forgotten. Since You-Know-Who’s slimy followers pretended to be acting beneath the imperius and  _ everyone _ fears death at the hand of the avada kedavra, often it’s forgotten that the cruciatus ruined many great witches and wizards. People have been driven mad by that one, let me tell ya.” His eye remains fixed upon Mallory. “And why am I showing these to you? Because you must always be ready to face them. CONSTANT VIGILANCE.” 

The remainder of the lesson is spent in total silence, apart from the clunking of Moody’s leg against the stone floor. The students make notes on the effects of the Unforgivable Curses, though Mallory realises gloomily that she had always known about these curses, but never knew that collectively, they were known as the  _ unforgivable curses _ . How many times had Lucius made jokes about using the cruciatus curse upon someone he found unpleasant? ‘ _ How I’d love to just put him under the cruciatus for a few minutes. Or, I could just cast him under the imperius and  _ then _ he’d see reason _ .’ Did Lucius know that he was making jokes about  _ unforgivable _ curses when he made them? 

“Black. Can I see you for a moment?” 

It is exactly as Mallory had feared, when Moody walked by her desk seven times in as many minutes towards the end of the lesson. By the time that everyone was able to leave, whispering excitedly about the _dark_ _arts_ that they have witnessed, Mallory is singled out.

Amara gives Mallory a confused look, but she easily leaves the classroom instead of staying as a witness, as Mallory hangs around, looking at a particularly interesting piece of graffiti upon the desk in order to avoid looking into either of Moody’s eyes. 

“I just wanted to check, Black, that you weren’t bothered with anything that happened with the spiders. Wouldn’t blame you if you did. CONSTANT VIGILANCE. It’s to prepare you.”

“Well, I obviously didn’t like seeing it right in front of my face,” starts Mallory, looking now at the still-dead spider, left abandoned on Moody’s desk. “But I don’t know why you’d think I’d be any more bothered than anybody else in the room?”

He shifts his weight, so that the fake leg clunks against the weight, clearing his throat. 

“Well, your family for starters. With a surname like Black…”

“Sirius Black  _ isn’t _ my dad.” She huffs, wondering if fourth year is about to repeat itself all over again. “I don’t know him and I’ve never met him. He’s  _ not _ my family. My surname is Black because Narcissa Malfoy was  _ Narcissa Black _ when she agreed to take care of me.” 

“So your parents?”

“I don’t know them. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy have warded me since birth.” She responds, still feeling annoyed that the Professor couldn’t just ask the other teachers about her familial situation. “Is that all you wanted to ask, Professor?” 

“Yes. Off you go, Black.” 

Somehow, Moody doesn’t seem satisfied by their conversation and mutters to himself in a low voice that makes his words indistinguishable to Mallory. Though, before she can wonder  _ why _ Moody cared about her wellbeing, her living situation or even her biological parents, Amara clasps onto her hand, dragging her down to dinner in the Great Hall.

“Mal. Mal!” Draco calls Mallory over, in one of those rare occasions that the two have anything to do with one another. He holds an edition of the Daily Prophet in his hands, which he is waving towards her. “Have a look at this!” 

He hands over the paper, smirking proudly with Crabbe, Goyle and (oddly) Blaise surrounding him. 

_ FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC _

_ It seems as though the Ministry of Magic’s troubles are not yet at an end,  _ writes Rita Skeeter _ ,  _ Special Correspondent.  _ Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved with a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers (‘policemen’) over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr Moody’s heavily guarded house, that Mr Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer  _ Daily Prophet _ questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.  _

Beneath the article, there’s a picture of the Weasley house; a narrow but tall building that rather resembles a shack, but smoke billows from the chimney and Weasley’s mother, a short, rather dumpy lady holds her hand to stop the picture being taken of her husband, a taller man, beside her. 

“How pathetic,” Mallory barks with laughter upon finishing the read. “Thanks for the entertaining read, Draco.” 

“And here they are, just in time.” Draco smirks even wider, dimples indenting pale cheeks as he looks beyond Mallory and Amara. Mallory turns to look, though is not surprised to see Ron Weasley and Harry Potter walking towards the Great Hall for their dinner. 

“Weasley! Hey Weasley!” 

“What?” He replies, looking rather annoyed to even look in their direction. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle push past Mallory to walk closer towards them, though Blaise lingers beside Mallory. 

“Your dad’s in the paper, Weasley!” Draco holds up the paper now, having swiftly taken it from Mallory’s hands upon seeing Potter and Weasley. “Listen to this!” He announces to the audience that had begun to slow down as a showdown appeared to form. 

“Pathetic, isn’t it!” He laughs, repeating the word that Mallory had only used moments before after he finishes reading the article. “And there’s a picture, Weasley! A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn’t she?” 

Mallory looks at Ron, who is bright red and shaking with a silent fury as everyone waits for his reaction. 

“Get stuffed, Malfoy.” Replies Harry Potter instead. “C’mon Ron…”

“Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren’t you, Potter.” Sneers Draco now as Harry attempts to pull his friend away. Mallory can’t help but smirk at the argument that is beginning to simmer between them. Though, knowing Draco, he will always take it one step too far. “So, tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?”

“You know  _ your  _ mother, Malfoy?” Replies Harry now, and Mallory suddenly feels her cheeks begin to burn as bright as Ron’s too. She watches as Ron and their muggle-born friend Granger, suddenly grab hold of Harry to hold him back, just as Amara senses Mallory’s anger and grips onto her hand. Blaise, beside her, begins to hold onto her forearm. “That expression she’s got, like she’s got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that or was it just because you were with her?” 

“Don’t you dare insult my mother, Potter.” 

Draco’s cheeks turn pink too, just as Mallory considers hexing his backside back to that house the Weasley’s call a home for even mentioning Narcissa in front of her. 

“Keep your fat mouth shut, then,” adds Harry, beginning to turn away, so that he doesn’t see Draco pull out his wand, ready to strike. Mallory almost wants to punch Blaise in the face as his grip turns stronger, ensuring that she can’t move to find her wand, adding to Harry’s pain as he is cursed by the two of them. 

BANG. Draco’s first hex narrowly misses Harry’s ear, as he begins to say the next hex, which echos across the entrance hall with another loud BANG. 

“OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!”

Professor Moody limps down the marble staircase, which causes the sound of his clunking leg to now echo across the now silent entrance hall. Everyone stares as Moody’s wand faces Draco, but when Mallory looks back to the space that Draco had occupied, a small, white ferret remains. 

“Wicked.” Whispers Mallory at the impressive human transfiguration, as Moody begins to walk even closer, examining the scene. 

“Did he get you?” Asks Moody with a growl at Harry. 

“No. Missed.” 

“LEAVE IT!” Moody shouts as Crabbe leans down to grab onto Draco the Ferret. 

“Leave - what?”

“Not you - him!” He shouts back at Harry, causing Crabbe to freeze. 

“This is the best day of my life.” Mallory whispers to Amara, no longer remembering her sudden anger towards Potter, but rather full of admiration for Moody and his remarkable magic. “Draco is a  _ ferret _ .”

“I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back turned,” continued Moody, who, with his wand, was causing Draco the Ferret to bounce up and down as he squeaked in pure terror. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…” 

“Never - do - that- again-” He growls out each word as Draco bounces helplessly, completely under the control of Moody, until- 

“Professor Moody!” Professor McGonagall, with an armful of books, gasps as she bounds down the stairs two at a time.

“This should be interesting.” Mutters Amara to Mallory, smirking as Draco the Ferret pauses in mid-air, Moody now looking at his co-worker. 

“Hello, Professor McGonagall.” says Moody, turning back to bouncing the ferret as if it is the most normal thing in the world to do. 

“What - what are you doing?” She asks, following the bouncing ferret until the laughter of Weasley, Potter and the muggle-born Granger detract her from the scene. 

“Teaching.” 

“Teach- Moody, is  _ that  _ a  _ student _ ?” She shrieks, whirling around and watching the Slytherins now, who are all watching with humour apart from Crabbe and Goyle. Even Blaise has a small smirk on his face. The books spill from her arms, darting closer towards the ferrets. 

“Yep.” 

“No!” She cries, pulling out her wand and wordlessly producing a counter-curse, so that Draco re-appears. His blonde hair, usually slicked and styled (because he spends enough time working on it) is ruffled all over his pink face, and he winces as he pulls himself to his feet. 

“Moody, we  _ never  _ use Transfiguration as a punishment!” She says quietly, aware of the students watching them. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?” 

“He might’ve mentioned it, yeah,” says Moody, scratching his chin without a care. “But I thought a good, sharp shock-”

“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of house!” 

“I’ll do that, then.” says Moody, staring with great disdain at Draco. Though, not much will be done by Snape when he hears  _ who _ his favourite student had been trying to curse: his least favourite student. 

Malfoy mutters to himself, scratching the back of his head as he begins to threaten Moody. 

“My father is a governor of this school. He will be hearing about-” 

“Oh yeah?” Moody limps forwards towards him, causing Draco to shrink into himself. “Well, I know your father of old, boy… you tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son… and ward.” His blue eye wanders over to Mallory, who up until now hadn’t felt the attention of others. But now, she even knows that Potter and Weasley stare at her. “You tell him that from me… now, your Head of house’ll be Snape, will it?” 

“Yes.” Draco resplies, casting a look back at Mallory behind him. 

“Another old friend,” growls Moody. “I’ve been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… come on, you.” He seizes Draco by the arm, yanking him towards the Great Hall as Crabbe and Goyle trail behind him. 

“Mallory. Here.” Just as Mallory thought that she had escaped without any attention directed towards her, even as Blaise continues to hold onto her forearm, Mallory grimaces at McGonagall who had addressed her. 

Walking glumly away from her friends, dragging her feet in order to keep as much time away from McGonagall as possible, she stands before McGonagall. The Professor looks over her spectacles at Mallory, and though there is a warm look behind the brown eyes, her mouth is stern, annoyed. 

“I didn’t do anything, Professor.” She says, holding up her hands in mock defeat. “I promise.” 

“Did I say that you did?” She asks, finally breaking out into a small, humoured smile. “I just wondered what you might have thought of that piece of human transfiguration. Though, to use it on a student,” she begins to bristle at the memory, though Mallory laughs at the glorious memory of witnessing Draco transfigure into a ferret. “Is completely incomprehensible. I’m glad you, at least, were there to witness it.” 

“It was wicked.” Mallory confirms, nodding with a smile. “Can you teach me something like that?”

“All in good time, Mallory.” McGonagall presses her palm into Mallory’s shoulder. “For now, shall we recommence tutoring on a Thursday evening? I’ll make sure to bring in extra chocolate digestives for you.” 

Ever since Mallory had expressed her enthusiasm to McGonagall during a rare detention one evening, McGonagall had offered the tutoring, certain that anything Mallory could face during her OWLs would earn her an Outstanding. Even at the end of fourth year they were beginning to touch upon Transfiguration that is beyond the NEWT level. Though, McGonagall still wouldn’t allow her to become an animagus.

_ I didn’t until I was 23. You can at least wait until you’ve left Hogwarts to beat my record. _

“Well, if there’s no chocolate digestives you won’t see me there!” Mallory jokes. McGonagall laughs too, even though her eyes narrow at the suggestion of her not attending. “Can we try vanishment again before we learn anything new? I hope I can make something living vanish now!”

McGonagall smiles at the suggestion, nodding warmly.    
“I’ll see you on Thursday, Mallory.” McGongall bends down to pick up the textbooks which had been dropped in her earlier shock. Mallory scoops some into her arms, too, wanting to help her favourite Professor. “And if you’re so interested in human transfiguration,” adds McGonagall, who examines the spines of her books. “Perhaps this book may be of an interest to you.” 

Handing over a large book with a red, faded spine, Mallory can barely contain her excitement upon realising that McGonagall is handing over a textbook far beyond her comprehended knowledge of Transfiguration. To be able to transfigure a _human_ is now something that Mallory will _dream_ of doing. 

“See you, Thursday. Professor McGonagall.” 

Though, even Professor McGonagall knows that her ultimate aim is to become an animagus herself, just like McGonagall. 

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE.” Moody repeats the words at least fifteen times in his opening speech to his class of OWL students. Everytime, though Mallory now expects it, she feels Amara jump beside her as his growling voice echoes across the classroom. “To be able to resist the effects of the imperius curse, you must be on your guard at all times. Now, a volunteer.” His eyes, magical and regular, scan the classroom but before he even looks at her, Mallory can almost predict the future. “Black. Up here.” 

“Remember, Black.” He says, holding up his wand with a delighted smirk as Mallory slowly, with blushing cheeks, makes her way to the front of the classroom for the demonstration. “Constant vigilance. I’ve got a good feeling you can resist this.  _ Imperio _ .” 

Whether she has the same good feeling or not, Mallory now feels entirely without feeling, for they all belonged to Moody. She is the puppet, able to move under his every whim. She would cough, sneeze, bark like a dog or even dance like a performer if he just tells her to. 

_ Jump onto the table _ . 

She braces her knees, bending and snapping upwards as, remarkably, Mallory lands onto the table without a wobble. The class whoop and cheer at the small sign of gymnastics, laughing as Moody tells her without a word to begin singing her favourite song. With gusto, she sings along to the tune of a Celestia Warbeck song, though there’s no time to contemplate embarrassment as she begins to moo like a cow, then cartwheels off the table, then does an uncanny impression of Professor Snape, then Dumbledore, then Amara, all the while the class are thoroughly entertained and Mallory is thoroughly helpless. 

It isn’t until the spell is lifted, the haze that had covered her eyes unclears and  _ Mallory’s  _ thoughts return. Yes, she could move her arm because she wills it, not from anybody else. 

“Good try, Black.” Moody says, though his eyes are filled with disappointment and it’s clear to Mallory that he had misguidedly believed that she could resist. 

But no, she is thoroughly helpless to the imperius curse.

And that scares her. 

“Did you really have to do that snort I do when I laugh sometimes?” Amara mutters to Mallory, though there are still fresh tears in her eyes from those five minutes of entertainment. 

“I can’t believe I did all that.” Mallory responds, watching as Moody calls up another Slytherin to practice being under the Imperius curse. 

“I know. Hilarious.” Amara says, while wiping tears from her eyes. 

Though, her best friend has no idea that no, she is not amazed by the hilarity of it all, but how thoroughly helpless she will be if anyone ever decides to use it against her. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3: Visitors

A month of Hogwarts and learning passes Mallory by without so much of a second glance. Even as her sixteenth birthday came and went, with a few cards from Malfoy relatives and, of course, an annual letter from Lucius Malfoy along with a parade of extravagant gifts that arrived by a troupe of owls (which Mallory definitely knows is for show in front of other wizarding families attending Hogwarts), and Mallory realises that her fifth year is alike to any other. Apart from, of course, the looming arrivals that Hogwarts would soon be expecting, the only other interest Mallory took was in Transfiguration; which delighted McGonagall to no end, as she often told her during their weekly tutoring after dinner. 

“What do your foster parents think of your interest in Transfiguration?” She asks one evening, whilst the two drink tea and eat chocolate biscuits, long forgetting the  _ draconifors _ that Mallory had been struggling through for the past hour. Though, she wasn’t sure what McGonagall would expect her to do with the small dragon that she requested Mallory to transfigure the snow globe into. 

Mallory shrugs, dipping her biscuit into the tea and quickly shoving into her mouth to avoid answering. 

“It’s a useful skill, obviously,” Mallory says reluctantly, once realising that despite her slow chewing, McGonagall still expects an answer. 

“Yes, but I wonder sometimes if even you don’t realise your full potential.” McGonagall adds, staring at Mallory above the tops of her spectacles. Her pinched lips are tightly forming a small smile. “I don’t buy this many biscuits merely because I enjoy your sarcasm and wit at times, Mallory.” 

“Best help myself to another, then.” Mallory jokes, reaching forward for her third biscuit of the evening, hoping that it will distract McGonagall from Mallory’s glowing red cheeks at receiving such a compliment from her favourite professor.

Despite working patiently through the remainder of her lessons, wondering just how bad it would be at home if she didn’t receive the top grades in History of Magic, that the mundane repetition of her lessons is broken apart by the Triwizard Tournament. The evening previous had ended with Mallory and Amara pushing through crowds of second years to read a notice in the Slytherin Common Room which informed them that the delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive on 30th October, the night before Halloween. Which is now less than a week away. 

_ The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday 30th - _

“No wonder McGonagall said we couldn’t have another Transfiguration session this Friday!” Mallory interrupted Amara as she read the announcement. “Sneaky lady!” 

_ Lessons will end half an hour early- _

So, by the time that Amara and Mallory were waiting around outside of McGonagall’s Transfiguration classroom on Friday 30th October, Mallory felt particularly gloomy that McGonagall hadn’t even begun her lesson punctually, since they are still waiting outside of the classroom five minutes after it should have started.

“At this rate I won’t get any Transfiguration until December!” Mallory groans loudly, alerting some Gryffindors around them as she whines. “The lady needs to learn about a thing called punctuality.” 

Whilst Mallory is only really speaking to Amara, who politely listens, her particularly sarcastic jibe about her favourite professor alerts a Gryffindor beside them, who rolls his eyes angrily at Mallory. 

“What was that face for?” Amara barks suddenly, having noticed the reaction from the Gryffindor, whilst Mallory continues to mope after the closed door of the Transfiguration classroom. 

“Her.” Gryffindor boy, as Mallory calls him in her head, jerks his head in reply to Amara, in Mallory’s direction. 

“ _ Her _ has a name.” Amara continues, dissatisfied by his short reply and his attempt to turn his body away from them. “And  _ she _ could transfigure away your crown jewels with a singular wave of her wand!” 

“Amara!” Laughs Mallory in response, and her auburn-haired friend rounds on her now, causing Mallory to jump as if Amara’s sharp tongue can cause damage. “You know,” Mallory begins to whisper into Amara’s ear now, fully conscious that other Gryffindors are staring after them. “I could probably ask McGonagall how to transfigure someone’s crown jewels by-”

“Well, you’re always acting as if you’re the  _ best _ at Transfiguration. Perhaps McGongall wouldn’t like you so much if you knew you were complaining about her when she’s not around.” 

“Well, if she’d open the door and let us in I’d probably complain all the same.” Mallory replies quickly, moving around Amara as her temper is now tested in a different way. “I wish we’d had Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws again, at least then  _ they’d _ be able to tell the difference between what is a joke and what is serious.” 

“Come in, all,” McGonagall calls, opening the door with her magic as if she wanted to join in on Mallory’s sarcastic comments as she calls them to the Gryffindor boy. But, with the class filing in, Mallory makes her way through the Gryffindors in order to get to her usual seat at the front of McGonagall’s class. Even though Amara gloomily sits beside her, despite her preferred station being at the back of the classroom. 

As McGonagall teaches, there’s a definite feeling of anticipation resting in the air, as if everyone is willing to reach out and touch it. Mallory pays close attention to McGongall’s teaching, though allows herself a few daydreams about half an hour’s time when she realises that it’s recapping transfiguring animals into water goblets, something she’d mastered in her first year. When the bell rings early, everyone is out of the classroom much quicker than Mallory, and even Amara forgets about her best friend, who stops to help McGonagall to tidy away some stray papers that had fallen to the floor. 

“Let’s walk, I can’t be late to meet our delegates.” McGongall gestures to the door of the classroom, where the students and staff have all disappeared from the corridors. 

“It’s quiet.” 

“That’s because  _ we’re _ late.” McGonagall quips with a smirk, holding her hat onto her head as they pick up their speed to a quick march. 

“Do you think the students will fit in at Hogwarts?” 

“I imagine it will be very different, Mallory.” McGonagall replies after some thought. 

Even as they round down a staircase, the portraits which are usually brimmed with people, have wandered around to different pictures in order to catch a glimpse of their visitors. “If they fit in will be entirely down to the students of Hogwarts, like yourself.” 

“But aren’t we competing against them?” 

McGongall bristles, catching her foot in a step for just a moment. 

“Mallory,” she scolds, shaking her head. “I would’ve thought you can see the power of networking and making acquaintances, as I am sure that there are not many wizards that Lucius Malfoy has not met before. Ah-” If McGonagall was going to add any more to her conversation with Mallory, she is quickly distracted by Gryffindor house, who are waiting at the entrance hall for their Head of House. Without a goodbye, McGonagall begins to survey her house (“Weasley, straighten your hat”) as Mallory makes her own lonesome journey towards Slytherin house. 

“How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Black.” Snape jives the moment that he sees the final pupil of his house arrive. “In line.” 

With his sharp words causing Mallory to jump, she quickly files herself into the middle of the mass of Slytherins, in order to not draw any more attention to herself. Snape, following McGonagall and the Gryffindors leads them outside, where Mallory ends up walking beside Pansy Parkinson, a friend of Draco’s. 

“I wonder how they’re getting here?” Pansy bristles beside her, craning her neck to look over the top of the other students’ heads in order to watch the same grounds that they have seen every other day at Hogwarts. Though, to Mallory’s disappointment, they seem entirely as normal as they always have been. 

The grounds are darkening as they stand, waiting for the arrival of the guests. Though Mallory had been centered in the Slytherins, she now realises she is on the outskirts, standing beside some Gryffindors, who watch her curiously. She always alerts those same kinds of looks, with a surname of Black. Pansy, beside her, doesn’t say another word. 

“Are they late?” Mallory asks no one in particular, watching the starry sky as if waiting for a swarm of people to burst from the sky in a portrait of fireworks. 

“Making a grand gesture, more like.” Someone replies, “Look!” 

Her grey eyes dart around the grounds, trying to figure out what her new friend has spotted, but it isn’t until she looks towards the dark forest that she finally sees something  _ new _ . In the sky, above the tops of the trees now of the forest, in a bright contrast against the dark sky is a giant, powder-blue carriage soaring across the darkened sky. Being pulled by a dozen large, winged horses which begin to descend lower and lower, causing some students to move backwards as they made their descent towards the Hogwarts populus. 

“Wicked.” Says that same voice, finally causing Mallory to tear herself away from the sight of three first years falling over themselves to escape being crushed, to look at the person beside her who had been speaking. Perhaps she expected it deep down, but she’s not surprised when she looks to her left and sees one of the Weasley twins smiling at her. 

“Where’s your shadow?” 

Confusion showers across his face in waves of facial expressions; his eyebrows furrowing as ginger locks sweep across his blushing cheeks.

“Pardon?” 

“I usually see two of you when one of you is around.” Mallory replies, as if it is the most obvious answer in the world. 

“Well, my shadow is…” The Weasley twin, with humour twinkling in his soft, brown eyes looks over the tops of fellow Gryffindor students, to see his twin standing beside their friend Lee Jordan. “There. Probably avoiding the Slytherin stench.” 

Mallory gasps and before she can help herself, she jokingly slaps the Weasley twin across the chest, causing him to laugh at her reaction and the two of them barely register when the powder-blue carriage doors open, revealing students dressed head to toe in blue, silky robes. As soon as the action is completed, she realises it’s the same way she’d react if Blaise had made a joke at her expense like that. But this isn’t Blaise beside her, which causes her suddenly to feel overwhelmingly conscious for acting so friendly with him.

“I’m joking.” The twin replies, jokingly swatting the air as if she is about to hit him again. “You’ve clearly showered today.” 

“And here I thought you were the polite one.” Mallory responds, rolling her eyes whilst still unable to pull away the smile that dances on her lips. 

“I had no idea that either of us were ever known as polite.” He folds his arms, smirking still at Mallory, who, blushing beneath his humoured gaze looks back at the carriage at the sound of startled gasps around them. 

“Well, only one of you ever even speaks to me, the other _ clearly _ succumbs to the Slytherin stench.” Mallory jokes, watching curiously as the largest lady she’s ever seen exits the carriage, stooping a brown-haired head to exit. 

Even with Hagrid beside her, she must surely still be the largest lady on Earth. The woman, upon walking serenely over towards Dumbledore, is dressed head to toe in black satin, with opals adorning her throat and fingers, causing Mallory to exclaim, “Now, that’s a lady.”

The Weasley twin, who Mallory hadn’t noticed has been watching her curiously, now looks over to the centre of attention too as she smiles calmly at Dumbledore. 

“My dear Madam Maxime,” he says, bending down to kiss the lady’s opal-covered fingers. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“What do you mean, ‘one of us’ only ever speaks to you?” Fred interrupts, breaking Mallory’s waning attention from the large lady and Professor Dumbledore. “I think this is the first time I’ve heard you say more than two words.”

“Maybe you’re the aloof one after all, then.” Mallory shrugs, enjoying the attention from this boy. 

“I prefer to go by the name of Fred.” He responds immediately, still smiling widely at Mallory. 

“So, ‘ _ Fred _ ’,” now entirely bored of the conversation between Madam Maxime and Dumbledore that enthralls the students of Hogwarts, Mallory fully turns her body to look at the Weasley twin beside her, smiling at the sheepish grin that is across his face. “How do I know you’re not really George?” 

“Well, George has a birthmark on his bum, so you’re more than welcome to check that I haven’t got it.” 

Though he is clearly joking with her, Mallory chokes on a laugh at the suggestion, leaning her weight between her feet as if she is shuffling, trying to conjure a witty response from her footwork. 

Fred thinks he has caught her too and that he has finally outwitted her too. 

With Madam Maxime and Dumbledore now inside the Entrance Hall, Mallory pulls her arms around herself to entrap some warmth, whilst her thoughts race to find a witty response to Fred. 

“The lake!” Yells another Gryffindor from the murmuring silence of the Hogwarts students. Now, Mallory looks to the lake too, as the disturbances below the surface of the water causes large ripples that wave across the entirety of the lake, building into waves as suddenly bubbles formed too as a long, black pole begins to rise slowly from the centre of the lake. 

A slow, magnificent ship rises from the water, causing both Mallory and Fred to momentarily forget their derision of one another to gawp at the ship in its entirety. 

“Amazing.” Mallory gasps among the excited whispers between Hogwarts students and the loud splash of the anchor being dropped towards the bottom of the black lake. First, they see a man embark from the ship, wearing sleek, silver furs as he leads a whole band of fur-covered students. 

“Dumbledore!” He calls heartily, and in that moment Mallory realises that Dumbledore and the giant lady have returned, waiting for the man with wide smiles. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?” 

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replies. 

“Karkaroff.” Mallory mutters, repeating the name as she wonders where she had heard it before. 

“Isn’t he the head of the school that Draco’s dad was going to send him to?” The sound of a new voice in her conversation causes Mallory to jump, turning now from Fred who frowns at the Slytherin behind her. 

“Yeah, he says he might send Draco to Durmstrang.” Mallory replies to Pansy, who frowns at the mention of this, causing her eyebrows to furrow into her green eyes. She wonders whether Pansy has listened to her whole exchange with Fred (or George). 

“Where would  _ you _ go?” 

“I don’t know,” Mallory responds, exasperated. Lucius seems entirely more focussed upon Draco’s quality of education to even care where Mallory goes. Though, Mallory wasn’t going to go admitting that to Pansy Parkinson of all people. “I’d probably stay here.” 

Hoping this has satisfied Pansy enough, she mentally cheers when Pansy shrugs and turns away from Mallory to direct her attention to more of her friends in their house. Excitedly, Mallory turns back to Fred but, instead of being greeted by a smirking redhead, the place where Fred Weasley (or maybe he  _ is _ actually George) had been standing now only holds empty space, separating Mallory from any other Gryffindors. 

Though not entirely surprised that Fred had finally realised  _ who _ he had been speaking to, Mallory found herself eager to find Amara once more. Or Blaise, if failing to find Amara. 

It is only whilst pushing her way through a gang of green-tied Slytherins that Mallory discovers the gossip that has enraptured the Slytherins as students, from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons  _ and _ Durmstrang now begin to make their way inside. 

“Did you see?” Asks Crabbe, one half of Draco’s  _ crew _ as she passes by Draco. “Viktor Krum is here!” 

“Not  _ the _ Viktor Krum?” Mallory gasps, feeling her mouth drop open in shock that a world-famous Seeker is actually at Hogwarts. “Good. He can show that Potter what good flying looks like.” 

This causes Crabbe, Goyle and even Draco to start laughing at the remark, causing Mallory to feel bolstered by the laughter at her own joke. 

“Why do you never say things this funny when Potter can actually hear?” Draco, spurred on by Mallory’s joke about his self-proclaimed enemy, laughs the loudest at her jokes and even wraps an arm around her shoulder, guiding her into the Great Hall, as if she now has a choice. Though she’s not used to this side of Draco, it has often made an appearance over their lives together and his elbow is sharp and angled so that the inner bones of his arm dig into the back of her neck, not allowing her to enjoy a moment of Draco publicly acknowledging her. 

“Because I don’t make it my life’s sole aim to piss off Potter and his motley crew, Draco.” Mallory rolls her eyes, hoping this will slacken his arm around her shoulder. It doesn’t. “But seriously, is Viktor Krum actually  _ here _ ? Or is this a wind up?” 

“Look.” Orders Draco, pointing lazily with the hand around her neck to point at the doorway, which they are now passing to reach the Slytherin table and Mallory squints, unable to distinguish one boy wearing fur to another. 

“Can’t see him,” Mallory tells him after scanning the crowd twice.  _ This _ causes Draco to sigh and drop his arm from around her shoulder, though still motions for her to sit beside him in the Great Hall. This surprises her, and clearly, surprises Blaise too, who takes a seat opposite to her whilst his eyebrows speak a conversation between them:  _ what are  _ you _ doing sitting here with  _ him? 

Draco, then, with the confidence of Lucius Malfoy and years of experience in watching him network with other wizards, beckons his right hand towards the Durmstrang group of students, who, upon seeing the confident Draco invite them to eat with him, walk confidently towards them, the swagger in their walk causing their furs to bounce in delight. 

“Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” Draco stands, extending his hand to Viktor Krum who leads the group and he takes it roughly, so that their hands shake above the table. 

“Viktor.” He replies, and Mallory almost wants to giggle at his accent which reminds her that these students have travelled from  _ who knows where _ . “You are?” Suddenly, Mallory is blushing as Viktor extends his hand now to Mallory, who suddenly feels voiceless. 

“Mallory. My sister.” Draco introduces her, and Mallory delicately takes Viktor Krum’s hand, feeling herself blush under his gaze, contrasting against the dark curls which frame her face. “Well, she’s my foster sister.” 

“Careful, you almost acknowledged me as family for a full two seconds.” Mallory jokes, feeling the eyes of many of the Slytherins around her, who could have been gawping at Viktor Krum or the mere fact that Draco Malfoy acknowledged Mallory Black as someone other than a roommate at Malfoy Manor. 

Draco bares his teeth in a grimace as Mallory causes other Slytherins to laugh awkwardly around them whilst Durmstrang students begin to filter themselves in between the Slytherin students. 

“Mikael.” Gruffs the student who settled himself beside Mallory, directing his name at Blaise who cooly responds with his own name in the same manner. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests,” says Dumbledore, who begins talking when a small silence overcomes the great hall. At this, Mikael smiles at Mallory. His hair, like Mallory’s, is coiled in black curls and makes Mallory wonder if she’d fit in more easily at a school like Durmstrang, whilst Draco, with bleach blonde hair and pale, white skin, would probably stand out and be swallowed by the thick furs. “I have a great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” Mallory feels herself shiver in excitement. “I now invite you all to eat, drink and make yourselves at home!” 

Dumbledore returns to his seat and begins immediately chatting to Karkaroff, who exposes a row of yellowed teeth as he grins back at Dumbledore. 

“Was it cold on that ship of yours?” Mallory asks as a sudden silenced lull overcomes the Slytherins at having to host the Durmstrang students. 

“Nothing we aren’t used to,” answers the Durmstrang boy with black curls, Mikael. “There are days at Durmstrang where we only have three hours of sun. A couple of days below the sea on a ship is hardly anything new.” 

“You must be much further North than we are, then.” Mallory answers and though she’s only trying to make conversation, she sees the way that the Durmstrang students’ necks stiffen as their shoulders rise, clearly uncomfortable discussing the location of their school, even if it’s only presumed to be ‘North’. 

Rather than continue along that conversation, Mallory quickly picks up some familiar food (not wanting to step out from her comfort zone) that the Hogwarts house elves have made for this particularly important feast and changes the subject. 

“Do you find it warmer here at Hogwarts, then?” She asks, as Mikael beside her just so happened to slip off his Durmstrang furs, to reveal long robes the colour of blood red. 

“Much so, yes.” He answers, folding the furs neatly in the space between the two of them. “At this time of year, usually we are seeing our breath as we breathe out.” 

“You should find a winter at Hogwarts pleasant for you, then.” Blaise responds, breaking his usual dinner time silence since Mallory is in the vicinity to speak to. Crabbe gawps at him as if it’s the first time he’s heard his friend speak. “Try the spotted dick,” Blaise gestures to the pudding before him, whilst Mikael stares curiously at the pudding with the ridiculous name. “It’s especially delicious with a bit of custard.” 

Only Mallory notices the twinge in the corner of Blaise’s mouth, laughing at his own inside joke.

By the time that the main feast is over, Mallory is still yet to catch sight of her auburn-haired best friend, Amara. 

“Looking for someone?” Blaise asks, noting her curious reaction as soon as Mallory had finished eating.

“Amara. I haven’t seen her since last period and that was hours ago, now.” She answers, and almost begins to feel worried about her best friend until Blaise laughs. 

“I’m surprised she’s lasted this long since September before pulling one of her disappearing acts.” He informs her once Mallory watches his humoured expression with curiosity. “What? Why are you acting worried? She’s been doing this for as long as you’ve known her. Goes off gallivanting all by herself and then you’re left wondering why you were ever worried in the first place, since she always comes back like nothing’s ever happened.” 

“I suppose you’re right. But still…” Whatever Mallory is about to add onto her conversation with Blaise, as concern for Amara still occupies the forefront of her mind, her sentence is cut off by Dumbledore standing once again; silencing the Great Hall in one swift stance. 

“The moment has come.” Dumbledore announces, with one of the largest smiles she’s ever seen on his face. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure which we will be following this year. But firstly, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Bartemus Crouch, Head of the Department of International Co-Operation-” Following the actions of the rest of the hall, Mallory politely claps as a man with dark grey hair barely acknowledges that the hall is applauding him. “And Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.” Now, Mallory claps knowing full-well who Mr Bagman is, since she had met him at the Quidditch World Cup along with Draco. Though, Lucius never seemed keen on the man. 

“ _ He’s quite overrated, Mallory.” _ Lucius had told her once he had left their vicinity. “ _ Nasty gambling habit, I’m quite surprised he’s remained in his current position, due to all of the eyes on the Ministry whilst we host the cup. It would be a shame if that secret became public knowledge.” _

Bagman in contrast to Crouch, waves and claps for himself as the Hall erupts in cheers for a former Quidditch beater for the Wimbourne Wasps and the England team. 

“Mr Bagman and Mr Crouch-” she watches as Crouch bristles at having been placed behind Bagman in the sentence, “have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff and Madam Maxime on the panel which will judge the champions’ efforts.” 

As Dumbledore mentions the  _ champions _ , the backs of the students straighten around Mallory, as Mikael and Viktor Krum share knowing smirks between one another and even Draco seems bolstered on by the quiet, subtle confidence of the Durmstrang students to smirk to only himself. 

“The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch.” 

Filch holds a wooden chest which is adorned with different jewels, rather opposite to the crusty clothes that Filch is wearing. 

“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman,” adds Dumbledore, smiling like a child at the casket in Filch’s hands, as if buzzing from the electric excitement in the room. “And they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways… their magical prowess - their daring - their powers of deduction - and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.” 

Mallory would’ve laughed, and she definitely feels the bubbling of a giggle building up in her throat as she becomes largely aware of the silence that has overcome the room, as if dust has fallen down from the enchanted ceiling and been breathed in by every attendant in the room. 

“As you know, three champions compete in the Tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector… the Goblet of Fire.” 

Dumbledore withdraws his long wand, calmly tapping three times upon the top of the casket as still, the room remains enraptured by Dumbledore’s actions and words. The lid creaks open with a sound that usually wouldn’t be heard in a room as large, loud and bustling as the Great Hall. Dumbledore reaches inside and pulls out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. Though, Mallory’s grey eyes seek out the colour, as the cup is home to dancing, blue-white flames. Dumbledore places the cup, or goblet, on top of the casket so that everyone can watch it clearly. 

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion-” again, Mallory felt the room rattle with excitement, “must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment, and drop it into the Goblet,” says Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

“To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the Entrance Hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. Finally, upon any of you wishing to compete that this Tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the Tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are whole-heartedly prepared to play, before you drop your name into the Goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all.” 

Slowly, as if reeling from the information, the Slytherins and Durmstrang students rise from the table, discussing their sleeping arrangements as Karkaroff storms towards them, causing Mallory to jump. She couldn’t imagine Dumbledore storming over to his own students with such a thunderous look framed by furs and grey hair. 

“Back to the ship, then,” he says, rounding his students towards him. “Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?” 

“Wine?” Whispers Mallory to herself in astonishment. She couldn’t imagine Dumbledore, or even McGonagall who often had chocolate digestive biscuits in stock just for Mallory, offering her some wine, of age or not. Viktor, who is still tugging his furs back on, shakes his head as another boy, who had sat beside Pansy and Crabbe shoulders his way to face Karkaroff. 

“Professor, I would like some wine,” he says with a boyish grin, in an accent that causes his w’s to sound more like v’s. 

“I wasn’t offering it to  _ you _ , Poliakoff,” snaps Karkaroff, “I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy-” 

Turning away, Mallory who had been holding in her laughter since the beginning of the meal snorts into Blaise’s sleeve, causing the boy, Poliakoff to glare at her. 

“It’s probably not his fault.” Mallory whispers to Blaise and the two follow closely behind the Durmstrang students. “Crabbe probably rubbed off on him.” 

Blaise laughs too, throwing his head back as Mallory snuggles closer into his arm, feeling the warming effects of her large meal beginning to cause her drowsiness. 

“What’s the hold up?” Blaise asks when, not a second later they pause at the door of the Great Hall, where no one seemed to be exiting. 

“Yeah, that’s Harry Potter,” a familiar, growling voice says and Mallory quickly realises the reason for the hold up; for there they are, staring at the famous Harry Potter. 

“You!” Wheeling round, Karkaroff, who is now slightly paler than before, stares at Moody, who stares unblinkingly back. 

“ _ Me... _ and unless you’ve got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You’re blocking the doorway.”    
“At least now I know Moody doesn’t only instill that type of fear in his students.” Mallory whispers to Blaise as they begin to move, as Karkaroff determinedly remains fixated on his current path, whilst Moody’s blue, electric eye whizzes around, darting from Karkaroff, the Durmstrang students, to surveying the Hogwarts students who had been held up by the commotion. 

Now able to move freely in the corridor, with her arm still securely fastened in Blaise’s, they set their destination for the Slytherin common room, though, not before Moody had a warning of his own before bed. 

“Watch that tongue of yours, Black.” 

_ 31st October 1994 _

Though, in Mallory’s opinion, Saturday’s are a sacred day for sleeping in, her curiosity surrounding the Goblet of Fire meant that the moment she awoke, it was all that she could think about. 

“And where were you last night, young lady?” Jokes Mallory as Amara exclaims that she’s coming with her to scope out the Hogwarts champion before Mallory had a moment to leave without her. 

“I was… around.” She answers, looking towards the door as plenty of Slytherins leave the common room at the same time as the two girls. “Look, do we want to miss the moment our future Hogwarts champion enters their name into the Goblet of Fire, or not?” 

“I heard Warrington entered his last night once all of the Slytherins had gone to bed.” 

“Warrington the Chaser?” Mallory asks, catching the end of Pansy’s conversation with a couple of other Slytherins. “He put his name in?” 

“Well, he said he did.” Pansy answers, smirking as the keeper of the information. 

“Imagine a Slytherin champion!” Amara exclaims, clutching onto Mallory’s arm in excitement. “And imagine the look on old Dumbledore’s face when he has to announce a  _ Slytherin _ champion. A pureblood to boot!” 

“Does blood really have to come into this?” Mallory asks, as the two girls begin to make their way up towards the Entrance Hall, which is one quick staircase from the dungeons. 

“Blood comes into everything, Mallory.” Amara says condescendingly, as if Mallory is a silly five year old, rather than a girl five months older than her. “I wonder if Cedric Diggory will put his name in, too?” 

At the moment that the girls move around the crowd that assembles around the Goblet of Fire, a beautiful brown-haired Gryffindor crosses the glowing Age Line. With a smirk of arrogance that can only come from crossing Dumbledore’s Age Line, she drops her name into the Goblet of Fire, beaming as the hall erupts into cheers. 

“ _ Johnson!”  _

_ “Yeah, go on Angelina!”  _

“Just imagine a Gryffindor champion,” Blaise cuts in between Mallory and Amara, screwing his nose up as he watches Angelina Johnson, a Gryffindor return to her giggling friends. “I’d rather drop out for the year.” 

“Could be worse,” Mallory says without thinking, for her mind fills with imagining Fred Weasley, or whichever Weasley has been polite to her in the past, emerging as Hogwarts Champion of the Triwizard Tournament. 

“ _ What  _ could be worse than  _ that _ ?” Asks Amara, pointing a not-so subtle finger towards Angelina Johnson now. Her group of friends scowl at Amara as Angelina purposefully flicks her black ponytail over her shoulder, ignoring them. 

“Harry Potter,” answers Mallory swiftly, knowing that, if Harry Potter emerges as Champion, Draco will be ready to pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower. “Draco would cry like a little baby.” 

Whatever Blaise and Amara thought of the imagery of weedy Harry Potter carrying a Hogwarts victory vanishes as laughter fills the Entrance Hall. Turning to the source of the sound, the Weasley twins emerge with their friend, an excited aura surrounding them. 

Mallory easily picks out the friendly one now, because he always seems to have the wider smile, as he breaks into the group of Harry Potter and his band of friends, whispering excitedly. 

“I wonder what’s gotten them so excited?” Mallory wonders aloud, watching as the other twin, the ruder one, rubs his hands together in a show of excitement. 

“Who cares, look, another Durmstrang entry.” 

Out of a group of five Durmstrang students, one boy is pushed forward, with a roguish grin he places his name into the Goblet and Mallory decides she’d rather him be the champion than Angelina, at least he seems a little shy about it. 

“C’mon, then, I’ll go first-” Mallory’s attention is whipped away, watching as Fred (or George) emerges from the group, holding a piece of parchment in his hands and Mallory almost wishes she could stand beside him as the two twins jump across the Age Line. 

For a moment, Mallory thinks they’re successful and wonders, whether in fact, that the Weasley twins are two years above her in school before she’s quickly proven wrong. 

The boys emit yells of boyish excitement before a sizzling sound builds, as if coming from the Goblet of Fire itself. But no, it is the Age Line, the very same Age Line which they have crossed despite being only sixteen years old. In the same second, they are hurled across the room, landing onto the stone, cold floor with a loud, popping noise as the two suddenly sprout identical, white beards. 

Mallory’s laugh is first, watching as the two boys realise their dire mistake as the Entrance Hall copies her, echoing raucous laughter at the expense of the twins, who, once pulling themselves to their feet, begin to laugh too. 

“I did warn you.” 

The Entrance Hall silences, where Dumbledore stands with an equal bear to match theirs, as if they are triplets, with an amused twinkle in his blue eyes.

“I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr Summer, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little, too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours.” 

With laughter still bubbling inside of her chest, even after the twins have disappeared and more Durmstrang, Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students enter their names, Mallory is unable to quieten her laughter. 

“If you’re going to laugh all day about a silly, old beard then I’m leaving.” Amara warns, but as she watches the serious expression of her best friend, Mallory is still incapable of thinking about anything other than the bearded boys, letting out an illegal laugh at Amara’s face. She’s swift in her response, quickly rising to her feet with a short goodbye before it is only Blaise and Mallory that remain. 

“It’s different.” Blaise tells her after a moment filled with only Mallory’s quieting laughs. 

“What is?” 

“When you laugh at things, Mal, I know your laughs. That’s a different one.” He leans on his knees, watching the Goblet of Fire emit more successful puffs of smoke as parchment after parchment is submitted to the fire. “Most of the time you laugh with me and it’s a soft giggle. Then you have a polite laugh reserved for Amara because you don’t know whether to laugh or bash her for using slur words about muggle borns. Then, of course, you have your sadistic cackle like when Draco turned into a ferret.” On cue, a laugh borne from her throat roars from her mouth at the memory. “But just then, that was a new laugh, like from deep inside your belly. It was warm, melting. It’s nice to hear, even if a bunch of blood traitors created it for you.” 

“Why don’t you try to cross the age line and we’ll see what kind of laugh that will produce when  _ you _ have a beard, Zabini.” Mallory teases, pulling herself to her feet, suddenly thoroughly uncomfortable in this conversation with Blaise. Why did he have to notice anything at all? Has he been watching her yesterday and seen her conversation with one of the Weasley twins? 

“Come on, I want waffles for breakfast.” She says, offering her hand out as she pulls her tall friend to his feet too, hoping that the mention of his favourite breakfast food will distract his brain from his recent observations. 

“ _ Delicious _ ,” he says hungrily, taking larger and quicker steps now than Mallory so that she jumps to keep up with him. 

All the while, smirking that her best friend is in fact, so very easily distracted. 

During the Halloween feast, which isn’t nearly as delightful as usual since the house elves had already impressed them with an extravagant feast the night before, Mallory watches the Head Table with fascination as Dumbledore seems to be determined to be the last person in the room to finish eating. 

“Hope it’s Warrington.” Blaise tells Mallory, who, with impatience, taps her unused spoon for dessert against the Slytherin table. 

“Hope it’s anyone other than  _ Angelina _ from Gryffindor.” Adds Amara, who casts a dark glance with frosty blue eyes at the Gryffindor table, who, like the Slytherins, watch the Head table with excitement. 

Just as Mallory is about to suppose that  _ maybe _ that Angelina Johnson won’t be such a bad champion to represent Hogwarts, the golden plates before them are cleared of their food. The hall quietens immediately. All eyes on the top table. He rises. 

“Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” says Dumbledore, Mallory glances at that very same Goblet, wondering when they’ll know it’s ready. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber, where they will be receiving their first instructions.” 

Dumbledore retrieves his wand, sweeping a powerful hand across the room as the candles that flood the Great Hall with light are extinguished, so that now the room is lit with a soft glow, emitted from the pumpkins and the Goblet itself. 

The flames inside the Goblet turn red just as Mallory feels that ever-same moment of boredom and she imagines her own face being emitted into the Great Hall. 

_ Hogwarts Champion, Mallory Black. _

The startled faces that no doubt would face her, Mallory Black, underage and  _ champion _ . Imagine Draco’s spiteful jealousy as her foster parents race to Hogwarts to demand that  _ no, Mallory can’t compete, she’s just a girl. _ But, Professor McGonagall could argue that Mallory is not such an ordinary child and that she  _ should _ compete. Flying seamlessly through the tasks as the confidence in her builds, not only from her fellow Hogwarts students and staff, but her family. Narcissa and Lucius finally,  _ finally _ showing her a smile borne out of nothing else but  _ pride _ . Narcissa insisting that  _ Mallory _ is her favourite child and Lucius merely acknowledges her as something more than a child inside of his house.  _ His _ child. 

“The champion for Durmstrang-” Mikael, who sat beside her again this evening, straightens beside her as she is ripped from her daydream. No, Mallory will not be champion of Hogwarts. Though, wouldn’t it be nice, she thinks, if she were. 

“Will be Viktor Krum.” Dumbledore holds the parchment high in the air as Viktor rises with boosted confidence, smirking at the adoring cheers from both students from his own school and the others. 

“Bravo, Viktor. Knew you had it in you!” Karkaroff’s cheer is the loudest of all, and he continues clapping for Viktor long after he has disappeared into the very same chamber that Dumbledore had gestured towards. 

With eyes firmly back onto the Goblet of Fire, it performs the same tricks as before, flashing red as it spits out the second piece of parchment, Dumbledore catching both the parchment and the attention of the hall with the second name in his hand. 

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” he continues, “is Fleur Delacour!” 

The movement around the tables causes Mallory to watch distracted, as a beautiful, silver-blonde girl rises from the Ravenclaw table, beaming from the admired cheers and claps, sweeping up the hall in between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables as if she glides. 

When Fleur Delacour disappears too, the excitement of the room reaches its peak, where they wait with baited breath for the Hogwarts champion. 

Red flames appear once more; spitting the final piece of parchment much higher into the air this time and Mallory wonders for a final time  _ who _ the Hogwarts champion could be. Warrington? Angelina Johnson? 

“The Hogwarts champion-” here goes. She waits for Dumbledore to read the name, pride beaming from his smile. “Is Cedric Diggory!” 

She claps because now, she is Team Diggory, wanting Hogwarts to win far more than it being about a  _ Hufflepuff _ and Blaise beside her claps much more politely than Amara, who seems genuinely excited as the handsome boy strides up the hall. 

“Excellent!” Dumbledore calls happily, “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-” 

“What?” As Amara cuts Dumbledore off with a whisper; for both Dumbledore and Amara realised at the very same time. 

The Goblet of Fire is still very much alive, turning from blue to red flames once more as Mallory’s breath hitches in her throat, wondering  _ how _ that could happen. 

Even if she expected it, she’s still surprised when a forth parchment flies into Dumbledore’s waiting hands. With the entire room waiting for the name because of  _ course _ , there must be a name on  _ that _ piece of parchment. 

“Harry Potter.” 

Mallory brings her hands together, though it doesn’t make sound and no one else bothers to even make the gestures of an applause. Her eyes automatically drift to Draco, who’s mouth drops open in shock as his eyes search out Potter from the midst of the Gryffindor table. 

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore calls again, with McGonagall whispering fervently into his ear. What could she be saying? “Harry! Up here, if you please!” 

Torn between wanting to see Harry’s reaction and wanting to figure out whether Dumbledore has solved this particular puzzle yet, her eyes drift to McGonagall, whose eyes are frantically searching the crowd too, presumably seeking out Harry. Her frown is clear, even from back at the Slytherin table and Mallory wonders, selfishly if, perhaps, she’s  _ not _ actually McGonagall’s favourite. 

“He’s not even  _ seventeen _ .” Draco complains, pressing his face into his knuckles so that his cheek becomes mushed up to his eyes like a child’s tantrum. “ _ How _ did he do it?” 

“Jammy git.” Says Crabbe, shooting daggers as Harry Potter walks slowly up to the front of the hall. 

“Bet he didn’t even mean to enter,” continues Draco as Dumbledore says something that only Harry can hear. “Bet he just wanted to  _ prove _ he could get past Dumbledore. Potter can’t find the right end of his wand unless  _ mudblood _ Granger is there to point it out to him.” 

Mallory laughs; not from the slur that Draco uses, although maybe that’s why everyone else politely chuckles along with him, but because she suddenly feels a sadistic rage directed towards Harry Potter. She hopes Potter fails somehow. Not badly, but just enough to embarrass himself. 

“Off to bed.” Dumbledore says to the Hall, his attention directed towards the chamber where Harry Potter has disappeared into. “After a no doubt… interesting evening for you all.”  _ And you too _ , Mallory thinks, remembering vividly the shocked expression of Dumbledore only moments ago. 

His smile has vanished, no longer the cheerful host of Hogwarts. The Slytherins continue to mock Harry Potter all the way out of the Great Hall. 

“Bet he hopes there’s a round on faking Gryffindor bravery,” says Draco, smirking viciously as the Slytherin group walks towards the staircase. 

“A round on teacher’s pet,” continues Pansy, scowling at the thought of their Hogwarts champion. 

“Extra points for being so far up his own arse, with blood traitors and mudblood friends to boot.” Adds Goyle and it earns his a hearty, amused slap on the back from Crabbe. 

“As long as he’s judged on handing out autographs nobody asked for.” Mallory adds. Laughter echoes her. “Plus a special, bonus-round on being unable to read signs without his glasses on.” 

Raucous laughter follows from her jokes and Mallory’s face beams with pride; feeling the sense of belonging in this group of Slytherins, where even Amara and Blaise can laugh at the same jokes. 

“Miss Black.” The effect is immediate, though it’s not an angry call of her name, Mallory jumps just the same. McGonagall, her favourite professor, and her mouth is set in a hard, cold line as she gestures for Mallory to come towards her. 

_ Oooooh _ mock the Slytherins as she leaves their herd, suddenly very alone once more whilst no one takes a second glance back at her. Not Amara. Not Blaise. Not even Draco. 

“Before you say anything, it was just a  _ joke _ .” Mallory excuses, immediately knowing that the reason for her  _ favourite _ Professor needing to speak to her at this exact moment is only to do with her jokes about Potter,  _ her  _ favourite student. “No harm done on our surprise champion.”

“Though I know from our time together, Mallory, that you enjoy the rib or two at others’ expense,” she begins, far from the kind words that she usually savours for Mallory. “I hadn’t expected that when around your friends you could be so callous and apathetic.” 

“Apathetic?” Repeats Mallory, seeking reasoning from McGonagall. 

“Cold, Mallory. It was cold.” She informs her and though Mallory seeks for the Professor that she loves in her eyes, the one who gets biscuits in  _ just _ for her, Professor McGonagall is now without her usual warmth. Ironic that  _ she _ is calling  _ her _ cold, Mallory realises. “There is a time and a place for mockery and right now I imagine Mr Potter will need the support of Hogwarts, since somehow he has been hoodwinked into this tournament.”

“But Potter tricked the Goblet to get his name in.” Mallory replies confident in her belief that the arrogant Harry Potter merely meant to get past Dumbledore’s age line to prove that he could. He doesn’t have the brains to realise the consequences of his actions. “Didn’t he?” 

“No, Mallory.” McGonagall replies, lowering her voice to whisper the information that only this student could easily extract from her. “I don’t believe he did.” 

  
  



End file.
